


Harry Potter-Granger and the Elixir of Life

by ar_joseph



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 157,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ar_joseph/pseuds/ar_joseph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Mr and Mrs Granger find a baby boy set at their doorstep and adopt him. Ten years later, their children, Harry and Hermione, embark on their first year at their new school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, unaware of what adventure lies in store for them. / AU retelling of "Philosopher's Stone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
> 
> AN: I know this has been done before, rewriting Harry Potter so that Hermione's parents adopt him rather than the Dursleys. But, even with all the previous attempts by others, I wanted to try my hand at it, and this is part of that result. I will try to keep as close to canon as possible, but I do know that this won't wind up being a Harry/Hermione thing. There will be a few OCs, but not too many. In regards to Hermione's parents, I do know that they were dentists in the original series; however, I changed those professions-to police officer and nurse, respectively-just for my own desire to make this story unique (at least, unique in my mind). Additionally, the names I gave them are my own invention and are in no way canon. Any feedback would be most appreciated and I will gladly return the favor for your stories.

Chapter One  
**An Unexpected Delivery**

 

 

 

On the morning of the 1st of November, at seven o'clock, Detective Constable Laurence Granger, of the Metropolitan Police Service, opened the door to his home in Greenwich, eager to obtain the morning's edition of the _Times_ and peruse the stories printed therein, and most definitely get a crack at the crossword. A robust, broad-shouldered man of average height with bushy brown hair, he had been looking forward to the crossword all morning, given that it (along with a very strong cup of coffee) was his favourite way to start the day, but also because of the long night he and his wife had just had.

In truth, much of the day before had been most unusual. That might normally be said all the time about Halloween, but this time it was much more so. The whole day had been punctuated by a great many and highly unusual flocks of owls all around the country. And Laurence saw a great deal of them; in fact, what was more bizarre was that it seemed as if all of them were carrying what appeared to be letters and parcels. ( _Parliament's busy today_ , Laurence thought to himself, most amused.) Adding to that, multiple people were seen about Greater London—actually, all over the country, as Laurence would later find out at the end of his shift that day—dressed in what one of his colleagues referred to with a hoot as “something straight out of the Renaissance”. Laurence knew all about everyone dressed in this manner. Around one in the afternoon, he had even kept a group of hooligans from antagonising one of them, a little man in a purple top hat. The man had been almost oblivious of the altercation, but did thank Laurence, followed by a string of babbling, which concluded the little man saying “Such a paltry moment cannot bring down my spirits, sir, for today is the day that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has fallen.” The little man bustled off before Laurence could ask him what he meant, but not before giving Laurence the strangest gold coin as a sign of thanks. The little man disappeared before Laurence could give it back to him, as he could not accept a gift of any sort while on duty. Laurence ultimately decided to keep it as an odd souvenir.

But, the biggest event of the day came later that night. Laurence had just come home to his wife, Jean, and young daughter, Hermione. Hermione was only two years old, but she was smart as a whip, already reading and eagerly poring over several books, mostly those of Dr. Seuss, but also Maurice Sendak's _Where the Wild Things Are_ and, to Laurence and Jean's bemusement, Homer's _Iliad_ , though she had not yet started on it. Ultimately, it was with a Dr. Seuss book that Laurence entertained his daughter before putting her to bed.

It was about 9:30 in the evening as he and Jean were tucking Hermione into bed. As they did that, several loud screeches and explosions and bright flashes startled all of them. Laurence dashed down the stairs and threw open the front door to find the perpetrators.

As he threw open the door, the first thought that came into his head was, _Damned idiots! Bonfire Night is NEXT WEEK!_

But, that thought very rapidly took a backseat as he found that someone in the vicinity had set off a large number of fireworks. No, “large” didn't even begin to describe it. The entire night sky was illuminated with bright bursts of almost every colour imaginable. And, somehow, it also illuminated every single star in the northern hemisphere that one would be able to see on a clear, unpolluted night sky. Soon, Jean joined him outside with Hermione in tow and the family gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the spectacle over their street. After a few minutes, Laurence swore he saw the fireworks take on the shapes of animals, both real and fictional, and that those facsimiles moved as though they were alive. Once the fireworks ended, the whole street cheered and applauded. Speaking to his wife later that night, she would confirm what he imagined to happen as she could barely believe her eyes as well. Both swore it was real; either that or someone had drugged the water supply for the neighbourhood and caused everyone to see something straight out of a movie like _Yellow Submarine_.

It took about another two hours to set Hermione back to bed, as she was too amazed by the fireworks that she was jabbering about them endlessly. Laurence had to read some of the _Iliad_ to her before she actually began dozing. It would have been a quiet night's sleep, if not for a motorcycle that roared through the street around two in the morning. The sound didn't wake Jean, nor their daughter. Laurence dashed to the window to look out onto the street. The street was dark, all the streetlights were out. No vehicle stood idling on the street, nor did any pass through in that time. So, Laurence did the natural thing and went back to bed.

Yes, last night was something to behold. But now, with coffee brewing in the kitchen, Laurence was ready to step out into the crisp November morning and bring in his much-desired newspaper.

However, just before he crossed the threshold, his eyes fell upon the most unexpected thing. Someone had set a basket at the foot of his front door.

Quizzically gazing down upon this highly unexpected delivery, Laurence stepped over it and walked down the steps to look up and down the street and see if there were any indication of who left the basket there. The street was deserted, with only a few cars parked on the curb, but no one else was outside yet. Laurence, not forgetting his desired objective, quickly picked up his newspaper, tucked it under his arm and returned his attention to the basket. A piece of paper was pinned to the blanket, a letter. It was addressed, in elegant green script, to “Detective Constable Laurence D. Granger & Nurse Jean R. Granger”. He bent down cautiously, not wanting to agitate the contents lest they be unfriendly or, in the worst case, deadly. Just as his fingers were about to touch the blanket wrapped around its contents, something within the blanket shifted slightly. Laurence jumped back in surprise, nearly tumbling down the steps, not expecting any living thing to be resting within it. Gathering more courage to examine the basket's cargo, Laurence finally bent down again, pulled back the blanket slightly to reveal...a boy.

A baby boy, at least twelve months of age, with messy, jet black hair, sleeping peacefully in the basket. He was clothed and appeared to be well-fed and in good health. _Appeared_ , Laurence thought, because his eyes quickly fell upon the boy's forehead, which bore a cut. A fresh one, from the looks of it, and an unusual one, as it took on the appearance of a lightning bolt. The cut began at the boy's hairline and arced downward until it ended just above the far point of his left eyebrow. But, despite that, there was nothing outwardly wrong with the boy.

He was beside himself with confusion. This was actually happening? _Something like this didn't happen in real life_ , he thought. _Nobody just leaves a child on the doorstep of a complete stranger. Not without looking in on the family on whose doorstep you were leaving the child_. That thought sent chills down his spine. He worried about what this person, whoever they may be, saw in their home, and for how long that person watched his family. He stowed those thoughts away and returned to the matter at hand, this child on his doorstep.

Laurence surveyed the street once more and still found no sign of human presence. So, he did the proper thing and picked up the basket, taking it into his home.

He walked to the kitchen and set down the basket gently at the kitchen table, unfastening the letter and tossing it along with the newspaper onto a counter. He poured himself a cup of coffee. After taking a sip of it, he went to fetch his magnifying glass, an anniversary gift from his wife while they were dating, from their office and started examining the basket, seeking any clue about who had left it. There was nothing on the outside of the basket to indicate who brought it to his home. He knew he had to get a look inside but did not want to risk waking the boy. He definitely wanted to make certain the cut was the only injury the boy had. But, in order to do that, he would need help to pick up the boy, ideally without waking him. There was only one person in this household who was the master at that: Jean.

Laurence made his way upstairs, making certain not to put his weight down on the creaky seventh step. Coming up to the master bedroom, Laurence walked in to see his wife still in bed, but awake.

“Morning,” Jean muttered, still slightly groggy.

“You would not believe what happened last night,” Laurence said to her, crouching down and brushing back some of his wife's honey blond hair.

“Darling,” she said, “I was awake last night. I saw the fireworks. Everyone in the neighbourhood saw the fireworks. Everyone from the Orkneys to the Azores saw those bleeding fireworks.” 

"I'm not talking about that,” Laurence said.

“Then, what are you talking about?” Jean mumbled, burying her head in the pillow. “It's too early to play games with me. Unless you have coffee for me, let me sleep.”

“Someone left a baby boy on our doorstep.”

Jean very quickly sat up, looking her husband square in the eye, and asked him in a most incredulous tone of voice, “A baby boy?”

“Yeah.”

“You're putting me on.”

“No, I'm not. There was a baby boy tucked to sleep in a basket and left on our doorstep as I went outside to get the paper.”

“How old is he?” Jean asked, very suddenly concerned.

“Only about a year old, maybe a few months older.”

“How long has he been outside?”

“I don't know, maybe a couple hours,” answered Laurence unsurely.

“Did you bring him inside?” Jean asked, more worried than before.

“Of course I brought him inside. I set the basket on the kitchen table. The baby looks fine, except for a cut on his forehead. He's sleeping right now.”

Jean quickly got out of bed, draping a bathrobe over her and tying the sash once she was completely up and about. As she did, Hermione began crying. “Would you bring Hermione downstairs, and I'll check on this boy?” Jean said.

With that, she hurried out of the room. Laurence walked out of the bedroom and into Hermione's nursery. At the sight of her father, Hermione held out her arms and began to whine for her father to pick her up. Laurence acquiesced with a chuckle, taking his daughter into his arms. “Come here, pumpkin,” Laurence said most affectionately as he scooped his daughter into his arms and gave her a peck on the cheek.

After quickly checking his daughter's nappy and replacing it with a fresh one, Laurence brought his daughter downstairs, humming a tune that made Hermione giggle. The father and daughter came into the kitchen to find Jean gazing down on the basket.

Looking up briefly at her husband and daughter, she walked over to Hermione, smiling sweetly, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She turned back to the boy and said, “This is the most unusual cut I've ever seen.”

“How so?” Laurence asked, his interest piqued.

“Well, this sort of cut can't be made in one fell swoop, but, remarkably, this one was,” Jean answered, very perplexed. “It's not made by a blade or anything like that. I have no idea what would leave a mark like that, if anything. It's just...done in one go by...something. I have no idea.”

“Car crash, maybe?” Laurence proposed.

“Possibly, but I really couldn't say,” Jean said. “You said this was the only injury you saw on him?”

“Yes,” Laurence stated. “I wanted you to pick him up so we could see if he's got any others and if there's anything else in the basket that can tell us who left him. There is a letter that was left with him. I didn't want to open it until you were up.”

“Why on earth not?” Jean asked.

Laurence walked over to the newspaper and picked up the envelope for her to see to whom it was addressed. “It's addressed directly to you and I.”

Jean picked up the sleeping boy, taking great care not to wake him.

Jean looked up at the letter in her husband's hand. She looked at Laurence, who had on his face a look of great concern while hers bore one of perplexity. Stowing that away for a moment, Jean returned her attention to the boy while Laurence took a quick look in the basket to see what else was within it, picking up the blanket, shaking it out, and peering into the bottom, but was left disappointed as nothing but the blanket rested inside. He passed the blanket to Jean, who lay the blanket on the table, set Harry gently down upon it, and began examining him.

“Daddee, who baby?” Hermione asked, as she saw her mother holding a child she had never seen before.

“We don't know, sweetie,” Laurence said honestly to his child. “But we'll know soon enough.”

He took a seat at the table with Hermione in his lap, opened the envelope, pulled out the letter within, and was about to begin reading, when his daughter tried to take it into her own hands, wanting to show her daddy she could read more than just the picture books read to her by her parents. “I wan' ree! Daddee, I wan' ree!” Hermione cried out, grasping for the paper her father held.

“Daddy is reading the letter, 'Mione,” Laurence sternly said to his daughter. “You can look at the words as Daddy reads them.” Hermione did not appear too pleased with that suggestion. However, it was apparent she reluctantly acquiesced to her father's edict.

Noting that, Laurence began reading the letter, “'Dear Mr and Mrs Granger...”

Laurence continued, “'Contained within this basket is a boy named Harry James Potter, born last year on the 31st of July. I profusely apologise for not addressing you in person with the monumental request I ask of you in this letter. However, it was very necessary to find a good home for him within what little time was available yesterday, and after exhausting all other options before coming to you, I have come to the decision that yours is the best place in which to raise young Harry.'”

Laurence quickly looked up at his wife, both of them shocked at the passage he just read. “That can't be what it says,” Jean nearly shouted, remarkably without startling the boy awake.

“I'm reading it word for word, Jean,” Laurence replied. “That's what's been written.”

Returning to the letter, Laurence continued, “'Very early yesterday morning, well before dawn, Harry's parents were most unfortunately taken from him and he was left orphaned until help came and I brought him to your door. Sadly, Harry has very little family that could open their door to him. Both sets of his grandparents have long since passed away and his father was an only child. His mother does have a _sister_...” Laurence's voice perked up at that bit of information, though it quickly vanished as he kept reading, “...but they have spoken very little to each other for the past four years, and her sister has been, at best, resentful toward her _since the age of eleven_!'”

Jean turned back to Harry, checking his arms, legs, hands, and feet for possibly broken bones. Laurence could not contain his surprise at that tidbit of information, but still read on. “'Her husband has been just as hostile to Harry's parents, if not more so, and would be adamantly opposed to taking in, and here I quote a story Harry's mother related of their only real encounter with each other of late, “a rabid stray from her lot”. Thus, it is reasonable to assume that these relations of Harry's would not wish to deal with any news of her sister, let alone take in her sister's orphaned child. Suffice to say, I do not believe this branch of Harry's family tree is a suitable environment in which to raise him, nor is it a suitable environment in which to raise their own child.'”

“I'd have to agree,” Jean said.

“Ditto,” Laurence responded, before returning his attention to the letter. “'In regards to Harry's health, you will no doubt notice a cut on Harry's forehead. He gained this at the same time he lost his parents to the aforementioned tragic circumstances. Upon examination, it appears to be only superficial, but it will leave him with a scar for the rest of his life. Apart from that, Harry is in perfect health for a boy of his age. His parents looked after him and doted on him every chance they could. He has no ailments of any kind, and neither of his parents have any history of mental illness, diabetes, cancer, heart conditions, hypertension, or any known allergies. Probably the only thing that would hinder Harry in the near future would be his father's poor eyesight, which I would wager Harry will inherit as he bears an almost uncanny resemblance to his father, save for his eyes, which he inherited from his mother.'”

Upon Laurence finishing that passage, Harry finally stirred awake with a gurgle and opened his eyes to the woman caring over him. As she gazed down on the boy, Jean let out a small gasp as the young boy looked up with a pair of brilliant green orbs. Jean could barely keep her heart from leaping into her throat as she looked upon the raven-haired emerald-eyed boy on her table and a smile broke out across her face. Harry looked upon the woman in confusion, assessing whether this was his mother or not. Jean giggled at the sight of this boy. “Hi,” she said giddily. “Hi, Harry.”

Very shortly after waking, the boy's face scrunched up and he began bawling. Jean quickly picked up the child and began rubbing his back in the hopes of calming him. She made shushing noises as she walked around the kitchen while young Harry kept on crying, which made Hermione put her hands to her ears. Jean said softly over and over, “It's all right, darling. Don't cry. You're in good hands.”

It took about ten minutes but Jean finally got Harry to calm down and soon after got a smile from the young boy. She brought the boy over to her husband and daughter. Harry let out a squeal of happiness as Hermione smiled at the boy and said, “Hi, Hawee!” Laurence chuckled as he gazed at the boy waving his hands at Hermione, nearly tangling his left hand in her already bushy brown hair.

With Harry calmed down, Jean got Harry out of his clothes and resumed examining him. She quickly found herself relieved to find young Harry had no injuries, save for the cut on his forehead.

After Jean got Harry's clothes back on, she and Laurence moved into the sitting room. After Laurence set down a blanket and some toys, Jean set Harry very gently on the ground while Hermione clambered over to the baby boy and immediately began playing with him. As Laurence and Jean stepped over to the entryway, they continued their conversation in more hushed tones.

“What's the rest of it say?” Jean asked, pining for a more concrete answer.

Laurence flared out the letter and finished reading, “'I ask that you take Harry in as your own and care for him, as he truly deserves it. It is crucial that you do so within a day of reading this letter as he will not have any greater protection any other way.'”

“'Any greater protection'?” Jean queried. “From what?”

“I don't know,” he replied. “That's all it says. It doesn't specify.” He continued, “'He is a very special boy and he will amount to many great things in the future. Please care for him and give him a good home.'

“'I give you my greatest thanks and wish you both, your daughter, and young Harry many years of happiness.'

“'Yours, respectfully, Brian White.'” Laurence finished with a tone of confusion.

“I've never met anyone by that name,” Jean said, mystified by the letter's conclusion.

“I haven't either,” Laurence replied.

“Was there anything else in the basket?”

“Just Harry, the letter, its envelope, the blanket he was wrapped up in, and the clothes he's wearing.”

“What are we going to do?”

“First, I'm going to call my precinct,” Laurence said, before picking up the telephone. “We need to find out as much as possible about his parents. And find Brian White, while we're at it.”

*****HPG*****

Laurence and Jean sat at their sofa in the sitting room as Inspector Neil Roth read the letter, hoping to glean any other clues that Laurence and his wife might have missed. A tall, slender man with an aquiline nose and neatly coiffed sandy brown hair, Neil Roth was one of Laurence's best friends, newly promoted to Inspector and eager for further promotion within the Service. At present, Neil was trying to prompt Laurence to do the same, at the very least to make Sergeant. But, Laurence playfully batted those encouragements of ambition away, as his mind was always more focused on his current work and his family. At present, though, it was more focused on the baby boy that made a sudden appearance at their home.

“Not much to go on here,” Neil finally said, looking up from the correspondence. “I can take all this to Forensics. Maybe they can find something more from what you found. Questioned Documents would love to have a look at the letter and envelope.”

Neil took a deep breath and asked, “You say your neighbours didn't see anyone set that basket at your front door?”

“I asked everyone I could this morning,” Laurence answered. “No one saw a man, or anyone for that matter, even approach our house early this morning.”

“And the baby's all right?” Neil asked Jean.

“There are no bruises or broken bones,” Jean explained. “Nothing that indicates he was maltreated. He's right as rain, except for that cut he got some time yesterday. The letter said it was around the time his parents died...”

“Nothing funny happen around here last night?”

“You mean before or after the fireworks?” asked Laurence.

“Between when they ended and when you found the boy,” the Inspector clarified.

“There was one point last night when I heard, or thought I heard, a motorcycle drive by the house. Must've been around half past three. When I looked out, the street was empty. Jean was asleep. None of the neighbours heard anything like that, either.”

Neil took a seat in the chair to the left of the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a brief moment before returning his attention to Laurence, who asked, “Anything come up on the boy?”

Neil quickly answered, “We're asking around if anyone has filed any report of a missing child named Harry James Potter, and we're also looking for 'Harold James Potter', 'Harrison James Potter', 'Henry James Potter', and any other variation that comes to mind. There's been nothing so far.”

“What about Harry's parents?”

“I don't know how soon we'll find them. All we truly know about them is that their surname is Potter and that the mum has green eyes and the dad's got black hair. We are checking the morgues, but if we had first names to add to our search, we could find them much faster. With what we have now, it would take a while to run down any possible matches.”

Neil looked over at the two children playing and smiled.

“Are you two absolutely certain you haven't met anyone by the name of Potter in the past few days or weeks, or in your school years?” Neil said, turning back to the Granger parents.

“No,” Laurence and Jean said simultaneously.

“And no relatives or distant relations by that name?” Neil asked, to which the Grangers shook their heads. “And the same goes for anyone named Brian White?”

“I haven't had any school friends by those names, nor any relatives,” Jean replied. “Laurence hasn't either.”

“I was thinking Brian White might be an alias,” Laurence mused. “I've got a feeling a search will turn up a long list of people with the same name.”

“Why put down an alias if you're asking someone to do this?” questioned Jean.

“Maybe he's responsible for what happened to Harry's parents.”

“Laurence, please don't talk like that,” Jean said in a worrying tone.

“Well, we can't really rule it out,” Laurence said.

“As much as I have to agree with your sentiments, I have to agree even more with Jean,” Neil stated. He held up the letter, and added, “He speaks of them fondly in here, like he cared deeply about them all. Why would he do that?”

“Jealousy, maybe?”

Neil and Jean could only give an odd look to Laurence.

Laurence threw up his hands and cried, “Look, I know it's nothing but conjecture, but what else can we think? That boy was stripped of his parents and his home by somebody or something, and we know nothing about them, or their family. And until we learn otherwise, I can't justifiably rule that out.”

“Maybe not,” Neil replied. “But, you can't deny it sounds like he cared about Harry and his parents in the letter.”

“If he cared about them so much, why not take Harry in himself?” Laurence asked in frustration.

“You read it yourself. He says he 'exhausted all other options' before coming to us,” Jean said. “Stands to reason he thought himself one of those options.”

This answer left Laurence without a retort. It was a good reason for Brian White not to take the boy in himself, but without knowing for certain the motives of Brian White, it was still just idle speculation.

“When is Child Protection coming?” Laurence queried, turning to Neil.

“It should be another half an hour,” Neil muttered. “I'll stick around with you until they get here.” Neil looked once more upon the children. Harry seemed to be drifting off, as did Hermione. The fact wasn't lost on Jean as she bent down to pick up both children. Laurence quickly got up to help her and took Harry as she passed him off.

“Look, Larry,” Neil began, using the nickname Laurence would have hated anyone but Neil and Jean if they used it when speaking to him. “I'm certain you don't want to hear this, but I think you should do what the letter says.”

Laurence looked at his friend as if he just said Laurence should jump into the Thames in the middle of winter.

“You're joking, right?” Laurence said to his friend, shocked at the suggestion made.

“Come on, Laurence,” Neil lamented. “You know how bad some of those foster homes can be. Not to mention, you hear some of the horror stories that come out of places like Wool's Orphanage? No, Harry is better off with you. With you two as his parents and with a sibling like Hermione.”

“Neil—” Laurence started, before his friend cut him off.

“This Brian White bloke chose you,” Neil riposted. “He must have watched you being a mum and dad to Hermione before he even considered setting the basket down at your door. He saw you both for what you were. Deeply caring, loving parents. The kind that really would give a child like Harry a good home. And I know you can.”

What Neil had said left a sick feeling Laurence's gut as he pondered his friend's words.

“All I'm saying is that you should think about it,” Neil added, sensing his friends' trepidation toward the suggestion. Neil slipped the letter into a protective plastic sleeve and placed it inside the empty basket.

“Do you mind if I visit the loo?” Neil asked.

Laurence gestured vaguely behind him and Neil went quickly to the lavatory.

While they waited for Neil to return, and for Child Protection to finally arrive, they took Harry and Hermione to Hermione's room, moving silently, contemplatively, and set the two children down for a nap.

Laurence and Jean did want to have another child. They had spoken about the subject on multiple occasions, between themselves and with Neil on one occasion. Laurence always did want a son, or another daughter, he wasn't very picky. Jean was just the same in those regards, though she was more keen on having a boy than another girl. Ideally, though, they were waiting until Hermione was a little bit older before they would really consider it.

They didn't speak, until Jean spoke up. “We always wanted to have another child.”

“Yeah, the traditional way,” Laurence quickly retorted. “Not like this.”

“I know,” Jean conceded, “but that doesn't mean we can't try again later.”

“Jean,” Laurence began, before his wife cut him off and spoke.

“This boy needs a home, Larry. I can't just send him away. Neither of us can.”

With a sigh of resignation, Laurence looked upon the sleeping boy. His wife was right. He couldn't just bring this boy into his home, and then turn him away to complete strangers. Not that they weren't complete strangers to the child themselves. But, they couldn't leave this boy to another family. Not after he had lost so much. His parents, his home. They did owe it to Harry to give him that.

“Whoever this Brian White person is, I seriously hope he knew what he was doing,” Laurence said.

“He must have,” Jean replied. “This isn't a decision you make lightly.”

*****HPG*****

Sure enough, two social workers from Child Protection came within a half-hour and took twice that time examining Harry and questioning Laurence and Jean about everything they knew about the boy. Neil spoke with the social workers about the beginnings of his investigation into finding Harry's parents, his relations, and Brian White before wishing Laurence and Jean well and excusing himself. Seemingly satisfied with the answers they had been given, the social workers spoke among themselves in hushed tones. Laurence listened as surreptitiously as he could.

From what he heard, he quickly began to worry. The social workers spoke of where they ought to put Harry, but from their tone, he inferred that they spoke not of what would be best for him, but what would be most convenient for them. The entire conversation finally took hold of him and Jean, both of them wanting to kick the two people out and keep the boy as their own. Laurence felt the innate need to stay his tongue as he listened to the social workers' conversation, until one of them said something that could not keep Laurence from speaking up.

“I heard that Wool's has a few openings,” the younger of the two uttered.

The moment he did so, Laurence and Jean shot each other a frightened look. They had to step in and keep Harry with them.

So, Laurence spoke up. “Excuse me,” he said at the top of his voice.

The social workers turned to him, looking slightly bewildered. “Is the letter that was included with the boy not an issue?”

“Well, of course it is,” the first social worker said. “But, seeing as neither you nor your wife are blood relatives, we can't justify placing him in your care.”

“If the letter were written by the boy's parents,” the second social worker added, “you would naturally be allowed to take legal custody of him, as was stated in the letter. But, as that's not the case, and as there's no proof that Brian White was the executor of their estate, we have to take the boy with us.”

“Please don't,” Jean said impulsively.

“We're sorry,” the first social worker said. “Our hands are tied. We have to take him with us.”

“Perhaps we could make it legal in some way,” Laurence said. “Perhaps, we could fill out some paperwork to become foster parents before we go through the proper adoption process.”

The social workers looked at each other and began a rapid whispered conversation. Laurence looked over at Jean and saw her smiling sweetly at him, which quickly spread to his own face. The social workers quickly stated that that was more than helpful to Harry (thought Laurence was certain they meant it was more than helpful to the both of them). Another hour and a half after that, Laurence and Jean had filled out everything form the social workers set in front of them, writing down every pertinent fact about the both of them and their child. Once everything was done, they shook hands with the social workers, who then left, and quickly embraced each other, overjoyed at the fact that they now had a son to add as part of their family. They soon went upstairs once they heard both children waking and brought them downstairs to celebrate.

*****HPG*****

From the window outside the sitting room at the front of the house, a man watched the family welcome their newest member. If the family had looked up at the window, or if someone from outside gazed in the direction of the window, they would not see him, as he had cast several powerful charms upon himself to ensure he remained invisible to all. If he were visible, one would see an old man with long silver hair and beard and a crooked nose upon which half-moon glasses rested. His attire would be considered odd and receive stares from passersby, as he was dressed in deep purple robes adorned around the waist with yellow moons of every phase and black leather boots with silver buckles.

At the moment, the old man was caught up with the joyful sight of the Grangers welcoming their new son and brother into their home. Hermione was especially gleeful at the prospect of having a baby brother, as she hugged her new brother constantly. Jean doted on Harry as well, ruffling his hair and blowing raspberries onto his skin, which made the boy giggle and squeal. But, the most satisfying reaction came from Laurence, who took Harry in his arms and began playing with him as he would his own son. He would toss Harry into the air and catch him, much to Harry's amusement and Jean's apprehension, again and again. When the time came for all to go to bed, Laurence and Jean settled Hermione and Harry into the crib in Hermione's room, just for the time being until they could get a new crib for Harry.

When the lights went out in the house, the old man checked his watch. To any other person, it would make no sense as the watch had seven hands and was circled by all sorts of planets. But, it apparently did make sense to the old man, as he tucked the watch back in his pocket, pulled a wand out of his other pocket, and began casting spells around the house. When he was done, he stepped back, satisfied by his good work, and whispered under his breath, “Good luck, Harry...”, before he disappeared on the spot.


	2. A Ruckus in the Reptile House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
> 
> AN: I decided to keep dentistry in as part of the Granger family history for this story with both pairs of Mr & Mrs Granger's parents being dentists. In regards to the incident, if it seems weak that Harry gets blamed, it probably is. Suggestions to improve it would be most appreciated. Thanks, and enjoy.

Chapter Two  
**A Ruckus in the Reptile House**

 

 

_The sound of the motorcycle's engine was making Harry feel sleepy. At least, he thought it was a motorcycle, like the one his uncle had. The big man kept looking forward. His bushy black hair and bushy black beard gathered moisture as he drove on, the stars and clouds flying by over his head. He was flying, just like Daddy would do with him some nights, like on his birthday, with the big chocolate cake, and then Daddy took him flying for the very first time. Then, Mummy got cross with Daddy and yelled, then took him into her arms and whispered he was all right when he already felt all right._

_Where were Mummy and Daddy?_

_Why was he with the big bushy man?_

_Harry couldn't tell what the big man was thinking. His eyes were covered by goggles and he looked straight forward, not looking down on him. He didn't know whether he should like this man or not. He swore he had seen the big man before, just not in this situation. Was the big man taking him to Mummy and Daddy?_

_Soon, the big man looked down on Harry and smiled warmly, his beard twitching affectionately. He said, in a voice Harry found trusting and comforting, “Just a little farther, Harry. You'll be safe and sound in no time.” But, it also sounded sad, like something bad had happened._

_Soon, Harry felt himself drift off to sleep. He always fell asleep on long journeys like this. How long were they flying for? It felt like ages. But, that didn't matter. All that mattered was sleep._

_But, soon, very soon, it found him again. The green light. It always found him when he slept. And just as always, it came rushing and screeching at him, as ruthless and malevolent as always, and then—_

*****HPG*****

Harry awoke, cold sweat dripping off his skin, his breath heavy and rapid. The green light. It was the green light again. When he had bad dreams, it was almost always the green light that startled him awake.

Harry reached for his glasses on his bedside table and put them. Looking over at his digital alarm clock, the time read 2:17 am. This was the oddest part of this dream. It always startled him awake at the exact same time. Seventeen minutes past two in the morning, every time he had this dream that always horrified him. _I suppose at least this stupid dream is consistent,_ Harry crossly thought to himself. Harry threw off the covers and got up. The room had an eerie feel after he had this dream. He had only a bookshelf stocked with a plethora of science-fiction, fantasy, and mystery novels, a desk, a night stand, and a lamp. But, it always made Harry feel at home. He left his room and sullenly padded down the steps to the kitchen.

Nearly ten years had passed since that day the Grangers brought Harry Potter into their home. The pictures in the home of Laurence and Jean Granger quickly came to reflect how proud they were to have a son. Pictures of Laurence teaching seven-year-old Harry and Hermione to fish accompanied pictures of three-year-old Harry “helping” Jean with the gardening on the mantle. Pictures of Hermione and Harry laughing while playing football (Harry was naturally winning, as Hermione was not nearly as fond of sports as her brother was) adorned the wall near Laurence's office and hung side by side with photos of the many birthday parties and holidays that the family attended.

Within Laurence's office, there were photos of his wedding to Jean, of the birth of their daughter, his promotion from Constable to Sergeant, then a few years after from Sergeant to Inspector.

Directly over Laurence's desk hung a framed letter, the letter that was included with Harry when he was left on their doorstep and its envelope. Laurence always looked up at it with a commingling sense of fondness and uneasiness. Fondness for the son his family gained, uneasiness for the circumstances that brought his son to their home.

The Grangers were always happy with Harry as part of their brood, and they never made him feel left out or out of place. When he was seven, he finally spoke to his parents about whether on not he was adopted. He had suspected for about a year that he was, having grown up around people with bushy brown or wavy honey blond hair, brown or blue eyes, rather large front teeth (in the case of Jean and Hermione), and either robust or slender frames, while he bore messy jet black hair, green eyes, relatively normal teeth, and a skinnier figure than the rest of his family. In addition to that, and most obvious to Harry, he realised he had the surname “Potter” while the rest of his family was named “Granger”.

When he brought it up, his parents were most candid with Harry, explaining the circumstances in which they found him and the letter that was left with him. They went over how Laurence had tried to find them, and the man who set him at their door, to no avail and that, most likely, his parents were deceased. When Harry asked his adoptive parents asked why they didn't give him their name, they explained they thought it would be doing an injustice to his parents, seeing as they loved him and cared about him. Laurence and Jean stressed that they loved him and that they were his family, and always would be. The next month, on Harry's eighth birthday, Laurence sat Harry down and asked if he wanted to take their name instead of that of his birth parents'. Though Harry wanted that very dearly, he didn't want to disrespect his birth parents either, and thus asked, hesitantly, if he could have both. So, Laurence took Harry to have his name changed to Harry James Potter-Granger.

Harry came into the kitchen and brought down the chamomile tea his mother would make him whenever he awoke from this dream. He took out the kettle, filled it, and set it on the front burner. Turning on the stove, he left it to boil and went to prepare his tea and some crackers, as he felt his stomach grumbling.

A creak from upstairs caught Harry's attention. He must have woken someone else up. He really didn't want to do that. He was hoping he could deal with this on his own, just for tonight, just for one night without anyone fretting about him. Hermione walked into the kitchen, wearing a grey nightgown, her hair bushier than usual, her eyes bleary from being woken up so early. Despite how early she had been woken up, Hermione was more concerned about her brother's well-being than anything else.

“Bad dream?” Hermione asked, with great concern.

Harry didn't want to go over this again. But, he knew Hermione would keep asking him if he were all right until she got a concrete answer. Either that or she'd tell their mum or dad, or both of them, that Harry had had another bad dream that woke him in the dead of night, and he'd have to speak with both of them. Harry could muster only a nod of his head and sat at the table.

“What was it this time?”

“What do you think?” Harry muttered.

“The green light again?” Hermione asked. Again, Harry only gave a nod of his head.

The green light was a sore subject in the Granger household. One could use the phrase “green light” in normal conversation without provoking a reaction. But, when someone said “the green light,” that meant the part of Harry's dreams that caused him to wake up in almost abject horror. When he was a toddler, his parents could only guess what frightened their son. As he grew older, they learned what it was and sought specialists to help him overcome it. The best answers they could come up with was that it had something to do with his birth parents' death. Laurence and Jean didn't need a doctor's opinion to be told that.

For the most part, Harry had the dream less often, on average once every two months, but he was still highly unsettled whenever it occurred. The worst time he experienced it was always on Halloween. 2:17 am on the morning of 31 st  of October every year, Harry would wake up screaming and thrashing in his bed, and could only be consoled by his mother, held close and comforting words whispered in his ear. It was not a day the family ever looked forward to.

Despite all these bad dreams, Harry grew to be a kind-hearted, gregarious, and happy young boy, if at times overly rambunctious, and prone to hot-headed behaviour.

The tea kettle began to whistle, and Harry dashed to take it off the stove and turn off the stove in one go.

“Did you want some?” he asked her, remembering that Hermione was now up with him. She shook her head and he poured the water for his tea. Harry left it to steep and brought the tea and crackers to the table. Hermione joined him, not taking her eyes off him.

Having Harry for a brother had been a boon for Hermione, if one had asked her parents. Before Harry's arrival, Hermione had been more or less closed off from the world, keeping to herself and burying herself in any book she could get her hands on, the more verbose the better. Once Harry became a part of the family, she was much more social with other children and with her parents. She doted on Harry and always read to him every chance she got, and taught him everything she could. It is necessary to note that these changes were not instantaneous.

Having Hermione for a sister proved beneficial for Harry as well. Aside from his chronic nightmares, both Granger parents believed that Harry's biggest problem was his impulsiveness. Too often, Harry made rash decisions that led to confrontations with other children. Hermione would very often calm Harry down, help him to regain his cool. She, along with Laurence and Jean, would teach him to think more rationally, in a more level-headed manner. Not to mention, she, apart from Jean, was the one person who could calm Harry the most from his nightmares. For that, he was always grateful.

The children often looked out for each other, one standing up for the other when they thought their sibling was in trouble. They didn't have too many friends, though Harry had an easier time making them than his sister. Harry wasn't terribly close to the friends he did have, mostly because they didn't want to socialise with Hermione. This often caused Harry to break off a friendship with his friend, much to his parents' dismay.

Strange things often happened around Harry and Hermione for no reason. On trips to the supermarket, boxes of cereals and bags of sweets that Harry or Hermione had wanted would show up in Jean's trolley after she had told her children they couldn't have it. Books occasionally found their way to Hermione's crib or bed from the age of six months to eight years. Laurence and Jean didn't regard this as unusual, but kept telling her she could not stay up at all hours reading. Harry's incidents had been seen as more troublesome, though no one got hurt at any moment before or after they happened. Harry had been found to have gotten onto his school's roof after running from some schoolyard bullies one day, and he had once been accused of dyeing his teacher's hair a bright shade of electric blue. Despite the fact that nothing could be proven about the deeds, they still cemented Harry's reputation for being something of a troublemaker.

One occasion was referred to within the Granger House as “the Playground Incident.” On this particular day, Hermione had been sitting on a swing at a playground, reading a book, Kipling's _Just So Stories_. Harry was a few yards away at the playground's sandbox, constructing what in his mind was to be the greatest sand castle all of London had ever seen. Jean was sitting at a bench, working on her knitting, looking up occasionally to see that her children were still playing. At the same time, there was also a bratty girl with a skipping rope. The girl had kept harping at her mother that she wanted to keep playing rather than going to see some stupid play. With that, she marched over to the swing set, skipping rope still in hand, and demanded that Hermione get off so she could play. Hermione protested, saying that she liked that spot and wasn't about to move.

Harry was building a second ring of outer fortifications to his sand castle when he heard Hermione scream. He looked up and saw the girl yank Hermione by the hair off the swing. Harry rushed over to help his sister, but tripped on his way.

Nobody knows who did what, but next thing anyone knew, the little girl was screaming and hanging from the monkey bars, tied by her ankles in her skipping rope. The girl's parents were scrambling to get her down. Jean bustled Harry and Hermione away before the parents had a frenzied fight with them. Remarkably, word never reached Laurence at his precinct house, though he let his kids have it once Jean told him what had happened, despite her best efforts to convince her husband their children didn't really do anything.

Neither child knew what had happened with the Playground Incident, but both children took it upon themselves to stand up for each other from then on.

“It shouldn't affect me,” he pondered, his mind returning to the dream that awoke him. “It's just a bright flash of green light.”

“Was there anything that happened before it?” Hermione asked.

“I was on a motorcycle,” Harry said. “At least, I think it was a motorcycle. There was a giant man driving it. He had this great big bushy beard and bushy black hair, and he was wearing goggles as he drove us. The weirdest thing was, I think I know him. Knew him, I mean. Or, at least, I saw him before.”

“Did he say anything? The man in the dream?”

“He said, 'Just a little farther, Harry. You'll be safe and sound in no time.'”

“That's all he said?”

“That's all.”

“What happened after he spoke?”

“I drifted to sleep in the dream. Then, the green light came rushing back again, and then I woke up.”

“Do you think maybe it's not a dream?” This got an odd glance from Harry. “Maybe it's a memory.”

“I don't see how,” Harry explained. “The motorcycle was flying through the air.”

“Maybe...he was the inventor of a flying motorcycle,” Hermione suggested.

This was a common tack taken by the family. They would always try to have Harry either figure out how a dream was the way it was or come up with an interesting backstory to the dream that took place before the green light occurred. That strategy worked once more, as Hermione's suggestion brought a confused smile to Harry's lips.

“Why would you invent a flying motorcycle and not share it with the world?”

“Can you think of how many people would want one?” Hermione responded. “Everyone would want one. Wouldn't you?”

“Of course I would.”

“See? The demand would be mad.” The siblings laughed as silently as they could without waking their parents.

“I'll get you one for your birthday,” Harry chuckled.

“I'll beat you to it,” she replied.

Harry sipped his tea, falling deep in thought about his dream. Had it been a memory, not a dream? There was no way. Motorcycles didn't fly. That went against the laws of physics. Not to mention, motorcycles weren't all that aerodynamic. But, had he seen the big bushy man before? On the television? As a baby? _It must have been when I was a baby_ , Harry thought. _I felt like I was an infant in the dream_.

“We should get to bed,” Hermione said. “Granddad Andy is supposed to be coming tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you're probably right,” Harry conceded, draining the last of his tea and setting the cup in the sink. The siblings walked up the stairs. Hermione gave her little brother a hug and whispered “Good night”, before she went to her room. Harry closed the door to his room, fell upon the bed and drifted off into a deep sleep that wasn't plagued by the green light.

*****HPG*****

The next morning, both Hermione and Harry got up immediately and dashed downstairs. Jean poured them each a bowl of cereal with fresh fruit, which they ate voraciously, despite Jean's exhortations about table manners. Ten minutes after breakfast, the doorbell rang, and Harry ran up to answer it. He threw the door open and was greeted by his grandfather, Andrew Wilkins.

Jean's parents were highly surprised, but incredibly happy to see a grandson added to their list of people upon whom they could dote. Laurence's parents were equally surprised, but more than ecstatic to hear about it as well. And Harry was quickly greeted as if he were one of the family from the moment he was born, especially by Granddad Andy.

“There's my grandson!” Granddad Andy cried, as he took his grandson into a giant hug. Harry laughed as his grandfather lifted him off the ground and swung him about in his arms. Hermione dashed up to her Granddad and he gave her the same treatment, to which she was just as ecstatic to receive. “And Hermione! My brilliant little girl!”

Jean came into the room, gazing fondly on her father with her children.

“Dad,” Jean said, coming into the sitting room, “thanks again for spending the day with them.”

“Oh, think nothing of it,” Andy said. “I'm always eager to see my grandkids.”

Looking up, Andy took notice of his daughter dressed in her scrubs.

“You're off to work?” he asked, as if expecting a different answer.

“Yes, Dad,” Jean said. “St. John's Hospital, just like always.”

Andy was a dentist by trade. Coincidentally, Laurence's parents were both dentists themselves and Andy and they always referred to each other, ever since Laurence and Jean got married, as “friendly competitors”. Both parents had tried to encourage their children to take up their trade, but something had possessed both Laurence and Jean to take up professions far different from their parents. Laurence leaned toward law enforcement, while Jean preferred to stay within the realm of medicine, as a nurse.

When Laurence and Jean first met, at a matinee showing of Shakespeare's _A Winter's Tale_ , they traded stories of their parents and their tendencies to keep them away from sweets and always to floss your teeth. Laurence's parents were fairly strict with their grandchildren about their dental hygiene, worrying that Laurence would neglect everything they had instilled in him. Remarkably, though, despite how stringent Andy had been with his own daughter, he was rather lax with telling the same to Hermione and Harry.

“You ought to get a different job, Jeanie,” Andy said. “That pretty face deserves better than spending day and night around blood and guts.”

“But I suppose it's perfectly suited to spending all day around gingivitis and halitosis, is it?” Jean riposted.

“Better hours,” her father replied cheekily, almost as if he were trying to sell a used car.

“I have to get to work,” she laughed, rolling her eyes at her father's continued attempts to get her a job at his office. “Kids, give your mum a hug.”

Hermione and Harry ran up to Jean, and both hugged her, and returned theirs twofold. Standing up again, she took on a strict demeanour. “Now,” she said, “both of you behave yourselves. If your granddad asks you to do something, you listen. Got it? And no mischief.” The last part was directed solely at Harry.

“Mum, when have we gotten into mischief?” Harry questioned.

“I can recall a few instances,” Jean recollected. “Like, how did your teacher's hair turn blue?”

“I was nowhere near her when that happened,” Harry cried.

“Or when you wound up on the roof of the school?”

“I keep telling you, I don't know how I got there.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Jean finally said, a slight smile hidden behind her demeanour. She kissed the foreheads of both her children, before turning to her father, giving him a peck on the cheek, and bidding everyone adieu.

Once she was gone, Granddad Andy bent down, and said, “Who wants to go to the zoo?”

The children let out a cheer of approval, ran to get their coats, and within fifteen minutes, they were off.

*****HPG*****

The zoo was bustling with families, enjoying the warm sunshine. Toddlers carried brightly coloured balloons. Workers dressed in garish animal costumes walked about the entrance, waving to everyone. The family went straight for the primates' section, looking upon the great apes, especially the orangutans, with keen interest. At the sight of the first ice cream stand, Granddad Andy promptly bought his grandchildren chocolate ice creams.

“Don't tell your mum,” Granddad Andy whispered wryly, knowing his daughter would have kittens at the thought of her children having more sweets than was healthy. At the zoo restaurant, the Granger children and their grandfather each got hamburger sandwiches with chips and cola. A few tables over, a family was bemoaning the fact that their son's Knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream and demanded another most vociferously. The father was very portly (though if one asked Granddad Andy, that would be putting it politely) with a great big mustache, as was his son, who wore a multicoloured striped shirt that reminded Harry very strongly of a giant beach ball, minus the mustache. The mother looked as skinny as a beanpole, with much more neck than any human being should be afforded. The kids and Granddad Andy looked upon the family with disapproval.

The time after the zoo restaurant was enjoyable, given that they were nowhere near the loud family from the restaurant. The birds were singing loudly in the aviary. Harry and Hermione got to see okapis and llamas and the elephants were out bathing and sprayed water from their trunks at the spectators.

They made their way to the reptile house, their last stop before they went home. As soon as they entered the reptile house, Harry felt his good mood lessen considerably as he watched the obnoxious fat boy and his family observing one of the larger snakes.

“Make it move,” the boy cried.

The father knocked on the glass and grunted, “Move.” Still, the snake did not move.

The boy slammed both hands on the glass and shouted, “MOVE!” Yet again, the snake did not respond. The boy muttered angrily, “He's boring,” before the family moved along to the rest of the reptile exhibits.

Granddad Andy, Hermione, and Harry walked up to the boa constrictor's display. The snake was asleep, or appeared to be asleep. Turning back to look at the family before them, Andy muttered, “Some people just don't know how to behave in public.”

Looking at the snake, he added, “If I were that snake, I'd be trying to attack that boy.”

“I think he'd be amused about seeing that,” Hermione said.

“You're probably right,” Granddad Andy said, moving on to other animals in the reptile house. Harry stayed, looking in on the snake.

“You must get that a lot,” Harry wondered aloud. “People banging on the glass all day while you're trying to get a nap in.”

To Harry's surprise, the snake raises its head, looked squarely at Harry, and nodded fervently.

“Can you hear me?” Harry asked, in total astonishment. The snake nodded again.

“Can you...understand me?” Harry asked, his astonishment growing. The snake nodded once more.

Harry looked around, hoping that no one else was seeing this. He decided he'd try to have a conversation with the Boa. “So...where are you from?”

The snake jabbed its tail at a sign to the left of its habitat. It read: Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

“Was it nice there?” Harry asked. The snake jabbed its tail a bit lower to another sign that read “Bred in captivity.”

“I guess we have that in common,” Harry said, relating to the snake's life. “I never really knew my parents either.” The conversation was cut short by the footfalls of the fat boy that banged on the glass.

“Mum! Dad! You won't believe what the snake is doing!” the fat boy cried.

Hermione and Granddad Andy turned from the banded krait's terrarium to see the fat boy elbow Harry hard in the side of the head in order to see the Boa constrictor. That sent Harry falling to the hard concrete floor. What happened next was a blur. Harry hit the floor hard, his glasses falling from his face and skidding a few feet away. He felt Granddad Andy and Hermione over him, offering to help him to his feet. Next, he heard a scream and a splash. Hermione had handed him his glasses, and then once they were firmly on his face, he found himself face to face with the giant snake. It appeared entirely placid and seemed to regard Harry as a good friend, while Hermione and Granddad Andy looked upon it in apprehension.

“Thanksss,” the snake seemed to say, before slithering away and saying what sounded like, “Brazil, here I come!”

Everyone in the reptile house erupted in screams as the Boa constrictor slithered its way outside, hissing in sheer joy.

“Mummy! Mummy! Help me!” the fat boy cried. Harry looked up to see that the boy was trapped inside the Boa constrictor's habitat instead of the snake. The parents screamed as their child was trapped inside, desperately trying to get past the glass separating them. Granddad Andy lifted his grandson onto his feet, and said, most urgently, “We best make ourselves scarce, kids.”

Grabbing Hermione as well, the old man and his grandchildren bustled out of the reptile house with the rest of the patrons. Just as they got a few feet away from the reptile house, a security guard stepped in front of them, dour and angry.

“Would you come with me, please?” he asked.

*****HPG*****

The recording from the CCTV system showed the fat boy, who apparently was named Dudley, though Harry heard the boy's mother call him something akin to “Dinky Diddums”, hit Harry in the side of the head. Hermione and Granddad Andy dashed to help Harry as the boy named Dudley gawked at the snake. Hermione picked up Harry's glasses and looked up at the boy, most likely glaring at the boy that hurt her brother. Then, the glass disappeared and the boy fell face first into the terrarium.

“There he falls into the snake's pen,” the head of security said. Someone had called the police in the panic and, somehow, word got to Laurence. Laurence left the precinct, embarrassed but more concerned about the well-being of Harry, Hermione, and Granddad Andy. Along the way, he passed on word to his wife, who, while concerned about the health of her children and her father, let out a groan of exasperation at the first mention of the day's events. Laurence sat and impassively watched the video of the day's events.

“The snake gets loose, looks at your boy, leaves them all be, and breaks for freedom. The boy gets trapped in there.” He turned off the recording and looked upon the Grangers with the utmost seriousness. “You understand how this looks.”

“It looks as though you're grasping for straws,” Laurence said, in a most matter-of-fact tone.

“Your son and the rest of them,” the head of security growled, gesturing vaguely toward Granddad Andy and Hermione, “looked the snake square in the eye, and weren't harmed at all. Not to mention, it looked as though he was talking to the thing beforehand. Seems very suspicious to me.”

“My son was hit in the head by that other boy,” Laurence chastised the head of security. “What's happening about that?”

“We've got a python on the loose,” the head of security shouted. “And your boy had something to do with it.”

“It was a Boa constrictor, not a python,” Granddad Andy interjected.

“Oh, that makes a world of difference, doesn't it?” the head of security yelled back.

“It does if you work at a zoo,” Granddad Andy countered snidely.

“Did you even think of how dangerous this sort of stunt would be? What if that bloody thing had got a hold of a child out there?”

“I didn't do it!” Harry cried desperately.

“I don't see how he could have,” Hermione shouted, leaping to Harry's defence. “That boy hit Harry in the head and knocked him to the floor. He had no time to get rid of that glass, and no means to do it either.”

“And his glasses fell off his face,” Granddad Andy tagged on to his granddaughter's argument. “He wouldn't have been able to see anything.”

“And you do have to ask yourself,” Laurence asked brusquely, “how exactly could my son make a glass partition disappear as he lay on the ground, nursing a blow to the head?”

That left the head of security at a loss for an explanation.

“If all you can do is sit there with your mouth agape,” Laurence stated, “we will take our family home and deal with this at home.”

As the family got up to leave, the head of security stood up and added, “You'll understand that your son is banned from this zoo.”

“We will contest that decision.”

“You're welcome to try.”

The Grangers left without a further word. As they left, Harry looked upon the boy named Dudley, wrapped in a towel and gibbering, and his family and found himself thinking, _They could be a good family, if they weren't so horrible_.

*****HPG*****

Harry rode home with his father, while Hermione rode with Granddad Andy. The drive from the zoo was silent, no one said a word. Once the Grangers got home, Laurence turned to Harry, looking down upon him with his sternest demeanour. “Did you have something to do with that snake getting loose?”

“No, I didn't,” Harry cried once more, getting tired of having to defend himself.

“You're not talking to some guard. You're talking to me, Harry. Did you have anything to do with it?”

“Larry,” Granddad Andy, said, stepping in, “he didn't—”

“Andrew, please,” Laurence stopped his father-in-law's statement, raising a hand without taking his eyes off his son. “Harry, did you let that snake out of its habitat?”

“You saw that I didn't!” Harry shouted.

“I also saw that you couldn't have broken onto the roof of your school, but you still got up there, didn't you?” his father retorted.

As much as Harry wanted to argue with that, he couldn't find any argument that he hadn't already made that would sway his father's opinion.

“You are grounded for a month,” Laurence exclaimed.

“A month?!”

“Be thankful it's not for a year. Now, go to your room.”

“I didn't do anything,” Harry pleaded.

“Go to your room!” Laurence pointed straight upstairs, his face stern and unmoving. Harry stomped up the stairs in frustration. He went into his room and slammed the door. Throwing himself onto his bed, Harry mulled over the day's events again and again. He didn't have anything to do with that snake's escape, except for being in the path of that stupid Dudley boy.

All Harry could do for the rest of the night was lay on his bed and run it over and over in his head. No matter from whichever angle he imagined it, he still couldn't explain exactly what happened, and he worried he never would.

 


	3. The Letters and the Late-Night Caller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Three  
**The Letters and the Late-Night Caller**

 

_The street was empty, not even cars parked at the curb, mist hanging just above the street. The streetlights cast a yellow glow over everything. Owls flew overhead, owls of all varieties, all clutching something in their beaks or talons. They looked like letters and parcels, maybe a vole every now and then._

_Harry looked up the street. Suddenly, he realised he held something in his hand. It looked like a cigarette lighter, silver in colour and, most likely, material. He knew his mother and father looked down on smoking and would ground him even more if they saw him holding it, but something felt different about this one. He flicked it once, and the light closest to his right flew from the lamp and into the lighter. Harry, awestruck, flicked it again. The light to his left flew from its lamp into the lighter. Harry was elated he had something so amazing in his hands. He flicked it once more and the next light on the right flew into the lighter. He did this again and again gleefully._

_Harry flicked the lighter a twelfth time. The light at the far end of the street flew from its lamp. Soon, Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Terror flooded his mind as he saw the light changed from yellow to green. Harry stood, rooted to the spot, paralysed with fear. The light surged forward, evil and terrible as always—_

*****HPG*****

He shot up in his bed, wide-eyed with fright. The green light came back again, for the second night in a row. _That's troubling_ , he thought to himself. _Should I tell Mum and Dad? Will they care? Of course they will. They always care. They always will, even after what happened at the zoo._

He got out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. As he did so, murmuring from his parents' bedroom caught his ear.

“A month, Laurence?” Harry heard his mother say. “Isn't that more than a bit strict?”

“He had something to do with it, Jean,” Laurence retorted.

“Yes, he got hit in the head by a horrible boy and you're grounding him.”

“He set a snake loose.”

“You honestly don't believe that?”

“He's got into mischief before.”

“Yes, mischief, not endangering the general public.”

“Jean—”

“I refuse to believe my son did this, especially considering the evidence you bore witness to. Why can't you?”

With a sigh, Laurence explained, “So many bizarre things happen around Harry. I love him dearly, you know that. But, all those bizarre things, getting onto the roof of his school, turning Ms Pettyfer's hair blue, this bit with the snake, all of them had only one thing in common: Harry. I don't think he's a delinquent, far from it, but I think he's able to do some amazing things without meaning to.”

“What, like magic?” Jean asked, utterly disbelieving. “You do realise how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I know,” Laurence said, almost defeated. He added, “But, freak accidents don't just happen. Glass partitions don't just disappear and reappear on their own. And you remember that one time his hair returned to normal after he got Hermione to cut it? Explain that.”

Harry remembered that. Other kids at his school had made fun of his scar and his messy hair. He couldn't figure a way to make either disappear permanently, so he tried to cut off his hair, leaving just enough to cover his scar. But, because he couldn't get to it at the back, he asked Hermione to do that for him. When his parents came home and saw what their children had done, both parents shouted themselves hoarse and sent their children to their rooms without dinner. Hermione was in tears, and Harry felt worse, having made himself look more ridiculous than before, and bringing his sister down with him.

The next morning, when Harry came down for breakfast, the family stared agog at him, and Harry soon realised that his hair was back to normal, as if the day before had never happened. The entire family was dumbfounded at the sudden return of Harry's hair, so much so that any and all future punishments were quickly forgotten.

“But, if that's the case, why are you punishing him if he can't control it?” his mother asked his father, bringing Harry back to the present.

“What else would a responsible parent do?”

“They'd let up,” Jean chided. “They'd try to help their son control...whatever it is, if it is anything. And, more importantly, they'd at least try to understand what it was before they punished their child willy-nilly.”

 _Did they seriously think he could do these things without realising it?_ Harry thought to himself. _They cannot be serious._ His father was never the sort of person to think of silly things like that. They would read Harry and Hermione stories about magic, but they also said over and over that it was all just fantasy, nothing more.

“I'll cut his grounding down to two weeks,” Laurence relented, admitting, “I was a bit strict.”

“A bit?” Jean pressed.

“Okay, I overreacted.”

“That's more like it,” Jean chimed, highly satisfied. “Now, let's get some sleep. By the way, you are one of the most responsible men I know.”

“Good night, dear,” Laurence replied.

“Love you, dear.”

Harry could feel himself growing a little happier. He wasn't going to suffer for a month like he first thought. He'd still be grounded, but for just half the time. He found himself feeling so much better that he turned back to his room and went straight back to bed.

*****HPG*****

The morning after the incident at the zoo, Harry woke up, and quickly remembered what he could expect. The air around the house felt much more tense as he made his way downstairs, but Harry felt all right, knowing he'd be allowed off his punishment sooner than expected. Already awake and seated in the kitchen were his parents and sister.

“Cook us some bacon and scrambled eggs, please, Harry,” his father requested, not looking up from his newspaper.

This was the start of his punishment, Harry realised. No matter, he said to himself, it'll only be two weeks. Not to mention, he actually enjoyed making breakfast for everyone, despite the fact his father meant it to be a punishment.

“Scrambled eggs and half a grapefruit, please, Harry,” Jean said, reluctantly but curtly.

“Hermione, what would you like?” Laurence asked.

“I don't feel hungry,” Hermione muttered.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, young lady,” Laurence lectured. “You need to eat.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and unwillingly ordered, “Just scrambled eggs, please.”

Laurence said, “And some toast for everyone as well, Harry.”

“Yes, Dad,” Harry replied. He made them breakfast diligently, whisking and cooking the eggs, frying the bacon, and putting the bread into the toaster. As everything was cooking, he got his mother her grapefruit and set it before her.

“What does everyone want to drink?” Harry asked, knowing his dad would get on him about forgetting that part of breakfast. Laurence held up his cup of tea, as did Jean. Hermione replied, “A glass of milk, please.”

Harry took the bacon and eggs off the stove, and brought the pan over, serving everyone a good portion. Soon the toast and bacon were done, and Harry served those as well as Hermione's milk. Soon, he cooked his own meal, making himself some eggs over easy, and two pieces of toast.

As soon as Harry sat down to eat, the sound of the mail slot clicking and the post flopping to the ground turned his father's head in the direction of the front door.

“Go get the post, would you, Harry?” his father not so much requested, but demanded, without sounding demanding. He was always rather good at that, he and his mother.

Harry set his fork down, stood up from the table, and walked to the front door. The post that was delivered appeared to be the usual assortment of bills for his mother and father. Just as he stood up, another letter slipped through the mail slot. Harry questioningly bent down to pick it up. The paper felt fancy, like it belonged to someone of great importance or was meant to say something really important was about to happen and they (most likely his parents) were invited. The back of the letter was sealed with melted purple wax stamped with an escutcheon bearing the letter H.

Turning it over, the letter read in elegant green script,

 

 **Mr H. J. Potter-Granger  
** **42 Foyle Rd  
** **Greenwich, Greater London**

 

Harry recognised the writing on the envelope. It strongly resembled that of the letter that was included with him ten years ago. He looked at the letter a lot in his father's office, mulling over who his birth parents were. His dad would use some of his free time to look for anyone named Potter and bore even a passing resemblance to Harry. Ultimately, those searches turned up nothing and Laurence was left pondering it all, almost aimlessly.

Harry threw open the front door and dashed outside, looking wildly about the street, not seeing anything that looked out of the ordinary. Footsteps turned Harry's head as he saw his father come up. “Going somewhere?” Laurence said, gesturing for Harry to go back inside. Harry stepped back into the house.

“You're not allowed outside,” his father said. “You know that.”

“But, dad,” Harry began, but his father continued his reprimand.

“You're not allowed outside unless we tell you you're allowed,” Laurence said. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, but—” Harry began, before his father cut him off again.

“But, what?” Laurence asked, expecting some stupid excuse from Harry, before his son extended the letter toward him.

“Someone slipped this letter through the mail slot after all the other post arrived,” Harry explained. “The writing looked so much like the letter you found with me that day ten years ago.”

Laurence took the letter and examined the sending address. His eyes squinted as he regarded the letter, but soon went wide with shock and his face went pale to match as he saw what Harry meant. The writing did bear an incredibly strong resemblance to the handwriting from the letter that was left with Harry when he was set at the Grangers' doorstep. Laurence strode to the kitchen, and said with an urgent tone, “Jean, we need to talk in the study.”

Jean knew that tone of her husband's. It was the tone he used when something really important came up, something unexpected and wholly serious. She set down her spoon and rushed to the study. Before he followed her, Laurence looked down on his son, and said, “You finish your breakfast and go straight to your room.”

“But, it's my letter!” Harry cried.

His father glared at him and growled, “Did I stutter?”

Harry stood his ground and said defiantly, “It's my letter and I haven't even read it yet.”

Laurence looked upon his son, his face commingled with severity and a heavy-hearted compassion.

“Fine,” Laurence relented, “but I'll be the one to open it.”

The Granger parents and Harry went back into the kitchen. Laurence got a clean knife and cut the letter open, so as to leave the wax that sealed it intact. Hermione looked about, worried and confused over what had happened. She leaned over and asked Harry, “What's all this about?”

Harry whispered, “We think that letter came from Brian White.”

Hermione went wide-eyed. Laurence handed the letter, still folded and unread to Harry, who took it, unfolded it, and read,

“Dear Mr Potter...

“We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School. You will find enclosed a list of school supplies and necessary textbooks. We expect your reply no later than the 1 st  of August. To send your reply, stand near the statue of General Wolfe in Greenwich Park this coming Saturday, hold your letter aloft in the air, and one of our messengers will come to collect it.

“Until then, enjoy the rest of your summer.

“Yours, respectfully, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster.”

The family was left dumbfounded as Harry handed the letter back to his father. Laurence looked inside the envelope, but found nothing else inside it.

“That was the only thing in here,” he muttered.

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” Jean asked with the utmost disbelief.

“If it's a joke, I certainly don't understand it,” Laurence said.

“What will we do?” Hermione asked.

“I have to make certain this is truly the same person as Brian White,” Laurence said. “I'll be back in a few hours.” Before he left, he looked at Harry, and said, “Stay in your room until I come back and call for you. Is that understood?”

Harry nodded reluctantly and Laurence left the house for his precinct. Harry quickly finished his breakfast and cleared the table for everyone before he went up to his room, to stay put until his mother needed something done, or until his father came back, whichever came first.

*****HPG*****

Shortly after Laurence left, Jean went to work. She told her son to do the laundry exactly as she had written out on her instructions. As the laundry went through its cycle, he washed the dishes that soaked after breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen. Once the laundry was entirely done, he went back to his room to wait until his father told him to come downstairs.

Harry tried to imagine what this Albus Dumbledore person, or Brian White, whatever his name was, looked like. For some odd reason, he automatically thought of some old man with with long silver hair and beard, with glasses. _Whoever this man was_ , Harry thought, _he had the oddest sense of humour. What does he really know about my parents, if anything?_

Of course, he suddenly remembered, this wasn't the first time some mysterious person had try to contact him. Every Christmas, a parcel would show up in the Granger household addressed to Harry. There would be no address or signature, just the same note: “Dearest Harry, Hoping you are well and happy. Be safe.” At first, Laurence thought it suspicious, believing Brian White sent it. That was until he read the affixed note and he saw the parcel's contents. Contained within each package would be several home-baked goods and some hand-knitted articles of clothing as well. The first year they got this sort of package, when the Grangers first took Harry into their home, the parcel contained a tin of fudge, a miniature mince pie, and three hand-knitted things—a baby blanket in scarlet and gold, a hat in a shade of green that brought out Harry's eyes, and booties to match the hat. The blanket soon became one of Harry's favourite things and he wouldn't go to bed without it up to the age of nine.

When Harry was three, Laurence and Jean began to stay up late to find out how the parcels got into the house. While they were glad that someone out there cared about Harry, they wanted to know why they were doing this, and how they knew Harry or his parents. He never could figure out how the presents got into the house. Whenever he turned his back to the Christmas tree, the kitchen table, or Harry's bed—all of them places the parcels inexplicably showed up—they would appear somewhere else in the house instead. Laurence still tried to find out how the parcels got in, but, on the whole, he and his wife came to accept the mystery presents as a fixture of Christmas in the Granger house, albeit a strange one.

Before Harry knew it, his parents had come back home.

“Harry, Hermione, come down here, please,” Harry heard his father calling cordially, adding, “Family meeting.”

Harry walked down as quickly as possible, followed closely by Hermione, who had spent the day studying French.

“Please, have a seat,” Jean whispered.

Harry sat down on the sofa, unsure and apprehensive about what his father had found. Hermione sat down beside him, just as apprehensive as Harry was.

Harry looked upon his parents, then said, “What is it?”

Laurence sighed, and said, “The same person wrote both letters.”

“Brian White?” Hermione asked. “You're absolutely sure it's him?”

“Definitely,” Laurence verified. “The handwriting on the new letter and envelope match the body of the letter and envelope from ten years back, and both signatures are so similar that there's little room for doubt. Not to mention, it's also the same types of ink and paper he used the last time as well.”

“What about the wax?” Harry proffered.

“Ordinary sealing wax. Despite the fact that it's a bit out-of-date to use it, it's not really traceable.”

“Well, did he leave any fingerprints or anything like that?”

“Nothing of the sort, sadly,” Laurence murmured. “We already ran a search on that name, Albus Dumbledore. Nothing came up.”

“Do you think that's another alias?” Jean asked, more concerned.

“It has to be,” Laurence replied, then mused, “What I really want to know is, why now? Why wait all this time to make contact with Harry?”

“Maybe he was waiting until Harry was old enough?” Jean suggested.

“Old enough for what, though?” Laurence wondered.

“Maybe old enough to know about his parents,” Jean suggested once more.

This cast a pall on the family, more than had been cast by the revelations made.

“So...” Harry began, trailing off before concluding, “How do we get hold of him?”

Jean looked at her son as if he suggested they invite a known killer into their home, and it most likely was what she thought of the matter.

“Harry, we are not going to try to contact this man just because he may know about your parents,” Jean rebuked.

“Why not?” Harry replied. “If he's trying to get hold of me, of us, why shouldn't we answer him?”

“Did you not read this letter?” Laurence asked in an appalled way. “He's asking you to stand in a public place and wait around like an idiot. We are not dealing with this man by his terms.”

“Not to mention,” Jean added forcefully, “we're worried he had something to do with their deaths.”

“Exactly,” Laurence agreed.

“How else can we talk to him?” Hermione asked.

“Whoever this man really is, we are not doing anything he asks of us,” their father blustered.

“Dad,” Harry said, pleading his case. “This has always bothered you. I always thought it bothered you a lot more than me. I want to know about my birth parents. I want to talk to this man, if only to give you some closure.”

Laurence appeared unsettled at Harry's appeal. His son spoke every truth about Laurence's desires to know the fate of the Potters, as well as Harry's. He had cut to the quick more effectively than Laurence ever had thought possible.

“Would you kids mind leaving your mother and I to talk privately, please?”

The children quickly assented to their father's request. Harry and Hermione went upstairs but Harry stopped at the top of the stairs to listen to his parents' conversation.

“Laurence, we can't humour this horrible man,” Jean said right off the bat.

“I know,” Laurence conceded.

“We're not going to. I won't have it.”

A pause followed this part of the discussion, before Jean asked in a knowing way, “You've already written a reply, haven't you?”

“It's not like we can follow any other leads,” Laurence replied.

“Laurence, please be sensible,” Jean pleaded.

“Jean, this is as close as we've ever got to knowing what happened to them. Harry deserves to know.”

“And what if it was something gruesome that did them in? Harry's only ten.”

“You wouldn't know it from talking to him.”

“Laurence—”

“Jean,” her husband told her, “I don't care what that letter said ten years ago. We couldn't have been the only home in this whole blessed country that was a good place to raise Harry.”

Jean made no response, but Laurence continued, “I know it sounds like I only want to inflate my ego, but I need to hear from this man's own lips why he chose us. I'm grateful that Harry came into our lives, but what made us so damn special? What did this man see in us? This wasn't kindness, not entirely. He had a plan for Harry, and I want to know what that plan was.”

“What did you write?” Jean asked guardedly.

“My reply simply says we want to speak to him directly,” Laurence stated. “We won't humour any other way of talking to him. He knows where we live, so he'll come here or we won't hear any more from him at all. That's what I wrote.”

“When did he say we should give him our reply?” Jean asked, knowing full-well what the answer was.

“This Saturday.”

“I don't like this, Laurence.”

“Neither do I.” With a sigh, Laurence declared, “He was right, you know. Harry, I mean. It always bothered me, too much. His birth parents were taken from him so unfairly. They deserved to be found, if they haven't been already. I just wanted to know who they were.”

“Whatever happens, this has to be about Harry,” Jean cautioned. “It can't be about you.”

“I know,” Laurence responded. “I can't help but think that Harry is more of a grown-up than I am sometimes.”

Jean chuckled, and said, “We helped a little bit in that regard.”

With a chortle, Laurence said, “Maybe a bit too much.”

“What sort of ground rules will we have for this meeting?” Jean asked, acquiescing to Laurence's wishes, but making it clear in her tone that she was still against them in every way.

“When this...messenger...does come,” Laurence explained, “we won't allow them to speak to Harry or Hermione. Not even a hello. If this person even tries to do so, we step in and make this a conversation solely between us and him.”

“If it is a him,” Jean stressed.

“Whoever they are, we keep them from speaking to our children until we deem them good enough people.”

“And if they aren't?”

“I told Neil about this,” Laurence replied. “He saw the new letter. I couldn't leave him in the dark. He told me to call the precinct if anything bad were to happen.”

“Good,” Jean said. “We should let the kids know what we're going to do.”

“I think they already know,” Laurence said wryly. “They didn't close the doors to their rooms.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in shock at their father's knowing utterance. Laurence called them downstairs. He explained to them their rules for this meeting once more, stressing that they were not to speak to the messenger at all, unless their parents decided it was all right to do so. With that, the family made themselves some sandwiches, ate in silence, and turned in for the night.

Harry lay awake for several hours, wondering what would happen that day. Who would they meet when they were there? What would they know? What would they say? His mind went over these questions until he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

*****HPG*****

The week leading up to Saturday was uneventful. When the day finally came, the family took the trip to Greenwich Park, the letter Laurence wrote to this Dumbledore person in his inside jacket pocket. Laurence didn't know how to address the letter, so he simply wrote “Prof Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School” on the envelope. They soon came up to the statue of James Wolfe. With a resigned look at his son, Laurence looked upon the long-passed general with solemnity. He did this for about a minute before he said, in frustration, “I have gone insane, haven't I?”

“No, dear, you haven't,” Jean answered.

“I'm a detective for Greater London,” his father stated to no one in particular. “I've received all sorts of commendations. I have the respect and admiration of my peers. And here I am standing in a park, holding a letter for some messenger who I'm pretty sure doesn't even exist. All for the whims of some madman. Why am I even doing this?”

“You want answers,” Harry proffered. Off his father's look, he added, “We all do.”

What Harry said instantly reminded him why he was following this Dumbledore person's directions and quickly went back to surveying the park, hoping that someone who would come to them. Jean affectionately wrapped an arm around him while Hermione took his hand. They gave Harry and Hermione money to look through the telescope at Queen's House. After ten minutes, Laurence finally held the letter aloft in the air, mostly in desperation, waving it every so often, hoping someone would take notice of them and approach them. Mostly, though, all they got were odd stares from the Park's other visitors. When they were done with the telescope, Harry and Hermione returned to their parents' sides. Hermione asked, “This is what he asked you to do? Stand around waiting for some messenger? Did he say what this messenger would look like?”

“All he said was what we'd been told, Hermione,” Laurence repeated. “Write a reply, come to the park, wait for the messenger to come. And no, I don't know what they'll look like.”

“How do we even know he'll come?”

“We don't,” Laurence admitted. “We'll just have to wait and, eventually, be surprised.”

Just then, a bird's call sounded through the air and a brown blur flew at Laurence's hand. Startled, he pulled back just as something big and feathery with very sharp talons tried to snatch at his hand. The letter fluttered down to the ground, landing softly in front of Hermione's feet. The family looked up to see a bird turning around and flying back toward the statue. As it came into better view, Harry could tell it was some sort of predatory bird.

The bird came and landed on the railing. It was a barn owl, a brown and white barn owl speckled here and there with bits of grey.

“Is that an owl?” Hermione asked, bewildered.

“A barn owl,” Jean stated in wonder. “I've never seen one this close before.”

“Damn thing nearly took my hand off,” Laurence grumbled.

The owl let out a screech at the family. It tried to look around the family for something, then let out another screech. Harry looked down at the letter, then back at the bird, and soon got a shock as he looked closer at the owl. The owl appeared to have a gold pendant around its neck, which bore a crest, a purple escutcheon with the letter H.

“Dad,” Harry said, “That's the messenger.”

“Harry, don't be daft,” chastened Hermione. “Owls don't carry post.”

“Then, what's that it's got around its neck?” Harry nearly shouted, pointing at the owl.

What Harry said shook Laurence out of his awe, as he remembered all the owls on Halloween ten years ago. He and the rest of his family soon saw what his son saw, and quickly knew this really was the messenger for whom they waited. Laurence bent down, picked up the letter, and stepped forward, directly in front of the owl. He held it up in plain view for the owl to see. Its eyes were transfixed on it, as if it were its prey. He moved his hand to the left, then to the right. The owl's eyes followed it wherever Laurence moved it. He moved it up and down. Again, the owl followed it without fail. He finally held out the letter to the owl to take. The owl took it into its beak and very quickly took flight. The family stared out at the departing owl in great wonder and confusion until it disappeared from view.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Laurence wondered aloud.

“Perhaps we should go home and have dinner,” Jean said, shaking herself and Hermione from their reverie. The two Granger women began walking back to their home, while Laurence and Harry stood where they were, looking upon the spot of the sky where the owl was last visible. They soon realised they were the only ones watching and soon hurried to join Jean and Hermione and go home.

*****HPG*****

Two weeks passed after the Granger family's encounter with the owl, without any response from Albus Dumbledore, or Brian White, whatever his name really was. Laurence sat Harry down and admitted he was being too hard on Harry and finally relented on grounding Harry for the full month. He told Harry it was wrong of him to think Harry had done anything as reckless as releasing a fully grown boa constrictor from its habitat.

He then took Harry out for a game of football at Greenwich Park again, which Harry won 3-2. The day was most enjoyable. Harry and his father sat under a chestnut tree, eating sandwiches and drinking juice his father prepared for the both of them.

“Do you think we'll get to talk to him?” Harry asked.

Laurence knew immediately his son was talking about the Brian White situation. He answered his son, solemnly but honestly. “I don't know, Harry. I hope so.”

“Do you think they're taking the piss?” Harry asked.

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?” Laurence asked, shocked at how his son knew such an expression.

“I heard a kid at school say it before term ended,” Harry admitted. “He told me what it meant. I just felt like it best applied to what's going on with Brian White.”

“If he is, he's a right bastard,” Laurence said, before catching himself and adding, “Don't let your mother hear you talking like that.”

Harry nodded rapidly, before his father spoke again. “I have no idea what he's thinking, what he's up to. Whatever it is, we'll be ready for it.”

“How?” Harry asked incredulously.

“I just mean we'll be ready to deal with him when he shows up.”

“ _If_ he shows up,” Harry corrected his dad.

“That's true,” Laurence admitted.

“Even if he doesn't,” Harry said. “It doesn't make a difference. My birth parents are gone. You're my dad. Mum's my mother. You always will be.”

Laurence smiled fondly at his son and ruffled his hair. “We need to get you a haircut,” he said.

“No, we don't,” Harry replied playfully.

“Yes, you do. You look like a little black hedgehog. You need to trim it up.”

“My hair is fine.” Harry batted his father's hand away, laughing as he did it. The father and son tussled a bit, laughing as they did so.

“We should get back home,” Laurence laughed, brushing the grass off his trousers. He helped his son to his feet. They kicked the football back and forth on their way out of the park, before Laurence picked it up and tucked it under his arm. Father and son walked out of the park and back home, happy and not worried about any possible encounter with Brian White or anyone in his company.

Harry, however, felt like he needed to talk to his dad about his dreams while they were still alone.

“I dreamed about the green light again,” Harry admitted to his father. “Two nights in a row.”

“When?” Laurence asked, greatly concerned.

“The night before the zoo, and then the night after it.”

“Why didn't you tell me, or your mother?”

“I was in trouble with you and Mum. But, I talked to Hermione about it the first night.”

“It's a dream that causes you grief and keeps you awake at night. That's something to be concerned about, Harry.”

“If I haven't figured out why I'm having it—”

“We will figure it out,” Laurence stressed. “This isn't something that just goes away or fixes itself, but we will get to the bottom of it, Harry.”

Laurence put an arm around his son's shoulder. “But I am glad you spoke to your sister about it all. From now on, even if you're in trouble with us, you tell us when you have the dream, okay?”

“Yes, dad,” Harry quickly assented.

“Good. Now, get your stomach ready. I smell your mum's meatloaf.”

Laurence and Harry came up to their house, the scent of meatloaf wafting out of an open window. Harry giggled as his father feigned nausea at the scent in the air as they went in to join the rest of their family for dinner.

*****HPG*****

_He stood on his street again, mist hanging over everything, streetlights casting their sodium yellow glow. It felt so much like that last time two weeks back. He checked his hand. There was no silver lighter this time._

_A light went out behind him, and that got Harry's attention. Harry looked and saw a figure in the shadows summoning the light from the lamps into his outstretched hand. Harry could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Soon, all the lights on the streets were out. The man in the shadows began walking up to where Harry stood. Their face stayed concealed in the shadows. Every step closer made Harry more nervous. As they drew closer, Harry backed away. The face still did not reveal itself, but soon Harry saw on of their eyes glowing, glowing green. Soon, the green surged from the figure's eye and flew at Harry—_

*****HPG*****

He shot up in bed, sweat pouring off him. _What is going on?_ He thought to himself. _Why am I having this dream more now than in the last few years? When will I stop having it?_ Harry plodded downstairs, making his way to the kitchen. As he came in, he saw the kettle already on the stove.

“Evening,” a voice said softly. The utterance startled Harry as he turned and found Hermione sitting at the table.

“What are you doing up?” Harry asked, bewildered that his sister was awake well before he was.

“I don't know,” Hermione answered. “I just...couldn't sleep.”

“You had a bad dream?”

“No, I just couldn't sleep.” Nodding to the kettle on the stove, she added, “There's enough in there for you to have a cup.”

Harry made himself a cup of chamomile. Taking a seat at the table, Harry asked her, “Why couldn't you sleep?”

“Just some stupid reason,” Hermione admitted. “I felt guilty about something.”

“Guilty?” Harry asked, disbelieving. “What have you got to feel guilty about?”

“Well...” Hermione began. Before she had a chance to go into her explanation, the phone rang, startling both children.

“We need to get that,” Hermione said on the second ring, her senses regained.

He said to her, “'Mione, don't. It's probably just a prank caller.”

“What if it's an emergency for Mum or Dad?”

He couldn't argue with that. Harry went over to the phone and picked it up, doing everything he could think of to slow down his heartbeat and his breathing and put the receiver to his ear.

Before he got the chance to speak, Harry heard his father say, in the groggiest of voices, “Granger House.” He must have picked up the phone at the same time as Harry did.

On the other end of the line, a voice asked, “Is this Laurence Granger?”

The voice sounded as if it belonged to an old man, far older than Granddad Andy. It sounded very wise as well, or at least very well-educated. Harry's dad replied to it, “Yes, this is he.”

“Detective Inspector Laurence David Granger, of the Metropolitan Police Service?” the voice asked further, as if there were more than one man with that name in the Service.

“Yes,” Laurence had answered a little impatiently. “How can I help you?”

“Husband to Jean Rosemary Granger, née Wilkins, father to Hermione Jean Granger and Harry James Potter-Granger?”

“Yes,” Laurence replied, his impatience unmasked. “This is Laurence Granger. What do you want?”

At that answer, the voice on the other end sounded delighted. “Ah, Inspector! I am so glad I could speak to you. I apologise for calling you at this late hour. However, this was the first free moment after I received your letter that I've had to speak directly to you.”

“What letter?” Laurence asked, growing suspicious but sounding confused.

“The letter you handed to the owl I sent to meet you in Greenwich Park.”

Harry motioned for Hermione to listen with him. She came quickly to the phone as he held it out between the two of them. Harry heard a rushed rustling on the line, which must have been his father getting out of bed. Harry knew what that meant: his father only got up this late when he had a call involving a case. Technically speaking, his father did have a case at the present moment. How Harry came to be a part of the Granger family was one of the biggest mysteries that had crossed the path of Harry's father. Harry knew his father loved him dearly, pretty much as his own; but Harry also knew, from the day his mother and father candidly revealed to Harry that he was in fact adopted, that it bothered his father that nothing had been discovered in all that time about how Harry's birth parents had died. It bothered his father especially that Harry didn't even have names to append to his birth parents' identities.

But now, some answers would come. Maybe not all of them, but some.

“Albus Dumbledore?” Laurence asked.

“Yes,” Mr Dumbledore answered very simply.

They heard the click of another person coming onto the line. It must have been their mother.

“Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School?” Laurence inquired, lacing every mention of their caller's supposed title with great suspicion.

“How do you do, Inspector?”

“Or should I call you 'Brian White'?”

“I'm not sure I understand what you are saying, Inspector. Why would you insist on calling me by that name?”

“Because that's how you signed the letter you left with Harry when we found him on our doorstep ten years ago.”

“Why are you so certain that was me?”

“The handwriting in the letter left with our son ten years ago matches the handwriting in the address on the enrolment notice you recently sent us. The signatures on both letters match as well.”

A long pause followed Laurence's explanation. Following that came a chuckle, as Dumbledore said, “You are a very keen-eyed individual, Inspector. Would your wife be joining us for this conversation?”

“I'm here, sir,” Jean said curtly.

“Very good,” Dumbledore said. “Again, do forgive me for calling at such a late hour. But, as I said, this was the soonest moment I was granted to contact you, given my duties preparing for the upcoming term.”

“So, which would be your proper name, then?” Laurence asked.

“That would be Albus Dumbledore,” the man now called Albus Dumbledore answered.

“Why did you choose us to raise Harry?” Jean queried, pouncing very quickly on that opportunity. Jean had always been interested in finding out about Harry's parents, though not as much as his father had been. Nevertheless, both Harry and Hermione knew she wanted answers, for Harry's sake.

“I believe I made it clear in the letter I left with Harry that night. I felt that yours was the best place to raise Harry.”

“'After exhausting all other options',” Laurence finished. “My whole family knows the letter backwards and forwards, Professor. What other options did you have to exhaust before coming to us?”

“Harry's parents had asked that his godfather be granted custody of the boy in the unlikely event of their deaths,” Dumbledore answered, before continuing in a sadder tone, “but, unfortunately, those wishes were rendered untenable shortly after they passed.”

“And his aunt and uncle weren't even close to a last resort, I take it? From how you describe them in the letter?” Laurence surmised.

Dumbledore took a deep breath and spoke. “Yes, that was the case. My initial thought on the matter was that Lily's description of them was rather exaggerated—”

Jean cut off Dumbledore with a single word, asking, “Lily?”

“Harry’s mother,” Dumbledore said.

Harry could feel his heart clench as he heard his birth mother's name for the very first time. No doubt his father was scribbling it down. Hermione gave Harry a brief smile before they returned to listening to the conversation. As if he were somehow sensing that the family wanted to know more about her, Dumbledore added, “And just so you're aware, her maiden name was Evans.”

“Why tell me that?” Laurence replied in a confused tone of voice, that wasn't really all that confused.

“I figured you would want to find out as much about her as possible once our conversation reaches its end. You were always so bent on finding me and Harry's parents since taking him in that day ten years ago.”

“It was mostly for Harry's sake,” Laurence explained.

“And you also had your own curiosity to sate,” Dumbledore knowingly added.

“Yes, I did,” Laurence admitted reluctantly.

“I'm well-aware, and, to be honest, I would question your sentiments were you even slightly reticent toward knowing anything about Harry's parents. I'm glad you were concerned about their well-being.” Dumbledore continued, “As I was saying, in regards to Lily's family, I thought she was exaggerating a bit about her sister, feeling that sibling rivalry had something to do with it.”

“Did it?” Laurence said.

“In some ways, yes,” Dumbledore answered. He continued, “James, however, was very quick to confirm her description.”

“Harry's father?” Jean rapidly asked.

“That's right,” Dumbledore confirmed.

Harry now had both his mother and father's names. He could not describe how or what he was feeling right now. He was switching back and forth between the most intense happiness and a gut-wrenching uneasiness as he took in everything that Dumbledore was saying. Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as they listened further.

“Not to mention, a firsthand examination by me of the family in their daily life confirmed everything Lily had said about them,” Dumbledore further explained.

“Why didn't you take him in yourself?” Laurence asked pointedly. “You obviously care about him. So, why not raise him, care for him yourself?”

“Believe me, that was the first thought that came to my mind,” Dumbledore said. “But, then I remembered, I've tried that before, with highly unsatisfactory results. Thus, I found you and your family.”

“How?” Jean asked, very interested.

“The day before you received Harry, ten years ago, I observed you, Inspector, on duty for the last three hours of your shift,” Dumbledore recounted. “The first time I saw you, you aided a man in a purple top hat being harassed by a group of young hooligans. He happens to be a good acquaintance of mine. After that was done, I followed you home, to see you and your wife doting on your young daughter, animatedly reading her a story about some little orange creature protecting trees. I could easily see you and your wife were people who truly loved children and that Harry would be best suited to your care and, most importantly, your love.”

A long pause followed. The white noise of the connexion was the only sound that could be heard.

“Are you still there?” Dumbledore asked neither Granger in particular.

“Yes, yes,” Laurence replied. “We're still here. Sorry, this is a lot to take in, you know.”

“Yes, it is,” Dumbledore said comfortingly. “You both are taking this in stride very well.”

“So...” Jean began again. “Why the alias?”

“Well, first, the name Brian White sounded like one that would apply to many people, while, to my knowledge, there exists only one Albus Dumbledore. And, second, it was necessary to keep you at bay until the proper time.”

“Which was when?” Laurence asked.

“When Harry was ready,” Dumbledore answered. “And he is now. He is ready to begin his education at Hogwarts.”

“My husband and I have not decided yet where either of our children will attend school, Professor Dumbledore,” Jean stated most resolutely. “We're definitely not sending our son to some strange place we have never heard of in our entire lives.”

“The appointment for Harry has already been decided, Mrs Granger,” Dumbledore replied casually. “His name has been in our registry since his birth, and his parents paid his enrolment fee upfront the very moment he was born, metaphorically speaking.”

“And we have no choice in the matter?”

“Oh, no, you do. As his guardians, you certainly do have the right to revoke it, should you choose to do so. But, I think it would deny Harry and Hermione an extraordinary opportunity if you did.”

Laurence took on a worried tone in his voice. “'Harry and Hermione'?”

“Your daughter's name has been in our registry since her birth as well.”

This last statement perplexed Harry and Hermione to no end. They both looked at each other as if they'd just heard Hermione had been adopted as well. _Hermione's name was down for registration with the school, too? How was that possible?_

“Dumbledore, I think it's best that we speak to you in person, face to face,” Laurence retorted with a very stern tone.

“I'm afraid I cannot accommodate that request, Inspector,” Dumbledore responded. “There is still so much to be done before the new term begins.”

“Well, then—” Laurence began.

“However,” Dumbledore interrupted, “my Deputy Headmistress is headed to London within a week's time. She could come to speak to you in my absence. That way, you would understand how important it is that your children attend Hogwarts. Would that be a suitable compromise?”

The line went silent for a short while before Laurence responded in an uneasy tone of voice, “What day were you hoping?”

“I was hoping it could be done on Harry's birthday. It's a proper time to introduce Harry and Hermione to everything. Would that be all right with you and your wife?”

A long pause followed, but Jean answered, “We'd prefer to speak to you. But, can you vouch for this Headmistress actually being here?”

“She is most punctual,” Dumbledore affirmed. “And she will explain everything there is to know about the school.”

Another long pause came, before Laurence replied, “Yes, we'll speak with her.”

“Very good,” Dumbledore said, delighted. “I shall inform her immediately. Thank you for your time. Good night.”

“Dumbledore,” Laurence asked hastily.

“Yes, Inspector?”

“James and Lily, how did they die?”

Dumbledore replied, with a sigh, “I'm afraid that is a story for another time, and far better to be related in person. Good night, Inspector.”

A click and the dial tone told them that Dumbledore had ended the call.

The silence in the house was palpable. Laurence hanged up the phone. Harry and Hermione did the same with the kitchen phone.

Harry looked upon Hermione with a sad smile and said, “I know their names.”

His sister quickly took him into a strong hug, which Harry returned in kind as he felt tears welling up, ready to flow.

He knew what he could call them. Nothing else from this night mattered. Not his bad dream, not why Hermione was up before him, not the unexpected call, nor the strange revelations made during it. All that mattered, for Harry and Hermione both, was that Harry now knew his birth parents' names.

James and Lily Potter.


	4. The Tabby

Chapter Four  
**The Tabby**

 

 

Sure enough, Laurence left early for work only a few hours after the call from Dumbledore. Neither Harry nor Hermione got much sleep after the phone call from Albus Dumbledore. Both children stayed awake well after the call and didn't fall asleep until close to three hours after. When they awoke for breakfast, it was a quarter to eleven.

“What are the both of you doing up so late in the morning?” asked their mother, very concerned. “It's not like either of you to sleep in like that.”

Harry and Hermione quickly admitted to listening to the conversation between their parents and Albus Dumbledore the night before. They stressed that they picked the phone believing it was an emergency for either their mother or father, but kept listening as they didn't want to miss anything that was said.

Their mother simply looked upon them, her expression between sternness and amusement. She finally shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

“Well, at least we don't have to sit you down and explain what happened,” Jean said. Looking on her kids, she reproachfully added, “No more eavesdropping. If I catch you doing it, you'll get grounded for a week.”

Harry and Hermione quickly assented to their mother's edict and set about eating their breakfast. When they were done, they went about studying in their rooms. All the while, though, Harry ruminated about Dumbledore and his parents, and the Deputy Headmistress coming to meet them within a week's time. He really could not focus on anything else.

*****HPG*****

Laurence came back late that evening, well after his wife had served them dinner. He was exhausted, his mind in a contemplative haze. Harry found him sitting in his office, swirling a glass of whiskey and staring off into space.

“Dad?” Harry called. The call shook Laurence from his pondering and he looked upon his son.

“Hey there, lad,” Laurence said.

“You had a bad day at work,” Harry said, noticing his father's drink.

“How do you know that?” Laurence asked.

“Mum says you only drink that stuff when that's the case.”

Laurence set down his drink and picked up a glass of water close by. After taking a sip, he gestured for his son to take a seat.

“Not a bad day, no,” Laurence stated. “Just an interesting one. Your mum told me that you and your sister were listening to the conversation last night.”

That caught Harry off-guard, but he admitted truthfully, “Yeah, we did.”

“What have we told you and your sister about eavesdropping?”

“It's wrong and we shouldn't do it,” Harry quickly recited.

“And what did I tell you about it?”

“If I do it, I shouldn't get caught.”

Laurence smiled at his son's cheek, but quickly grew serious. “What I really said about it.”

“'It's morally reprehensible and only people of the lowest character do it for their own gain,'” Harry recited.

Laurence leaned forward, his demeanour showing more concern than before.

“Did the green light wake you up last night?” asked Harry's father.

“Yes.”

“Why was Hermione up?”

“She said she couldn't sleep.”

“How come?”

“She said she felt guilty about something. She didn't say what.”

Father and son stayed silent for a while, with Laurence taking another sip of water, before Harry spoke up. “Albus Dumbledore is his name then?”

Laurence took up his whiskey again, taking only a small sip before setting it back down on the desk.

“That's what he says,” Laurence muttered. “First thing when I got to work, I set about finding out where Dumbledore made his call, hoping that would lead me to him. Turns out it was from a phone box outside a druggist's office in Okehampton. No one living in the area or working around there had the names Brian White or Albus Dumbledore, nor had anyone in that area encountered a man by either of those names.” With a sigh, Laurence added, “You're probably right. He really is taking the piss.”

“Don't let Mum hear you talk like that,” Harry replied with a grin.

Laurence chuckled slightly.

“You heard their names,” he said, becoming serious again.

“James and Lily,” Harry responded.

Harry watched his father pick up a file off the desk and open it, revealing what looked like a newspaper clipping and a police report. “The normal searches I ran on James Potter and Lily Potter turned up nothing. Lily Evans, however, had a driving license.”

Laurence pulled out another sheet of paper and handed it to Harry, who took it with slightly trembling hands. The paper showed a black-and-white photocopy of an old driving licence, about thirteen years old, issued to one Lily Evans, born eighteen years before the date of issue. The girl in the photo had shoulder-length dark hair, but Harry instantly focused on her eyes, which were almond-shaped, just like his. He could imagine them being green, just like his, but he couldn't be too sure.

“I'm sorry, but that was the only proper photo of her I could find,” said Laurence, ruefully.

Harry handed the copy of the licence back to his father.

Looking upon the rest of the folder's contents, Laurence said, “Don't take this the wrong way, but I figured if strange things were happening...”

“Then, you should look for strange things,” Harry finished his father's sentence unsurely.

Laurence nodded and spoke. “For James, that search turned up one, and only one, traffic citation. The oddest thing, this Constable and Sergeant pulled over him and another bloke, who was the one driving, on their motorcycle for several offenses: excessive speed, refusal to pull over, and both of them weren't wearing helmets. Then, it gets weird. Report says the two men on the bike pulled what looked like drumsticks out of their back pockets, waved them, and somehow got the officers' car to rear up on its back wheels then upright on its back fender, when three men with brooms crashed into it. That was before James Potter and the other bloke 'flew away on their motorcycle'.”

“Flew?” Harry asked, astounded. His mind began racing with that image, the dream of the big, bushy carrying him on the flying motorcycle in the forefront of his mind. He pushed that image out of his mind's eye and brought it back to the present.

“Yes,” Laurence said, confused as well. “The officers were suspended without pay on the grounds of 'damaging police property and filing a false report.'”

“What happened to the other three men? The ones who crashed into the car?”

“The officers wrote that once the car fell back onto all four wheels, the other men had disappeared.”

“Do you think they were telling the truth?” Harry asked.

“I can't really say,” Laurence muttered, though Harry thought his father suspected that was the case. “A search in our database for strange happenings involving Lily Potter turned up nothing. Same for Lily Evans. But, I called up a friend of mine who's a reporter. He looked for articles about strange occurrences with mentions of any of the three names. He found nothing regarding James or Lily Potter. On Lily Evans, however, he found me this article.”

Harry took the clipping from his father. The headline read “Springtime Come Early?” and was dated in December about twenty-three years ago. The photo that accompanied the article showed a cherry tree in full bloom. This wouldn't normally be a news item, except for the fact that the tree was in full bloom in the middle of winter. In the photo was a young girl, about eight years old, with dark red hair, almost as dark as a claret, running away from the scene. The article had identified the girl in the photograph as Lily Evans, though Harry couldn't tell if it really was the girl who would eventually become his mother because he couldn't see any of her face. The article went on to say that the tree went back to a wintry state of leafless, blossomless branches shortly after the girl ran away from the scene.

“How does something like this happen?” asked Harry.

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

“Do you really think I can do things like this?”

Laurence looked solemnly on his son. “It seems possible. But, we can't get ahead of ourselves. We don't know if Dumbledore is telling the truth or not.”

“He showed us things about my parents,” countered Harry.

“We don't know for certain these people are your parents.”

“She has my eyes.”

“Eyes that resemble yours. If the licence were in colour, I'd be more inclined to agree with you, but that's not the case.”

“You really don't trust him?”

“He avoided talking about their deaths,” Laurence said sternly. “He didn't come to us in person. I have the feeling he's hiding something.”

“What do we do when the Deputy Headmistress comes?” asked Harry, unsure what to think.

“We will worry about that when it happens.” Laurence took up his glass of whiskey and drained the last of it. “It's time for you to get to bed. Good night.”

Harry left and trod up the stairs to his room. He lay awake for about a half hour, contemplating one question over and over: _If my birth parents really could do those things, what am I capable of?_

*****HPG*****

_It was nighttime. He stood at the observatory in Greenwich Park. It was late at night, but when he looked up at the stars, the entire sky was taken up by the planets. Saturn floated in front of Jupiter. Mercury raced across the sky. Mars and Venus floated in front of Neptune's Great Dark Spot._

_When Harry looked to his right, he saw the strangest sight. A cat sat near the observatory, and it looked as though it was reading something. A map. It was too dark to make out any of the cat's characteristics, but his eyes never left it, taking in every odd quirk about the sight before him._

_Suddenly, the map folded itself up, and the cat took it into its mouth, and dashed away. Harry ran after it, across the grass. Remarkably, he was able to keep up with it, running down the streets after the feline. Soon, he found himself standing in front of his home, its flowerpots full of begonias, the streetlights casting a yellow glow over everything, the ground covered with a layer of mist._

_At the foot of the steps stood the cat. He still couldn't see anything about what the cat looked like. The map was unfolded at its feet again. The cat looked up at the house and back down at the map again. The map folded itself up once more. The cat didn't bother to pick it up this time and quickly slinked up the steps, taking a seat on its haunches at the very top. As Harry went up the steps, a streetlight went out to his left. Then another. The lights immediately after it all went out one after the other. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he saw a man appear as if out of nowhere. He walked down the street, putting something in his pocket along the way. The cat got to its feet and shot down the steps toward the man._

_Harry walked down the steps, keeping his eyes on the man and the cat. A roar in the air turned Harry's head to his left. He saw a light hurtling toward the street from the sky. The light drew closer, and Harry saw that it was a motorcycle's headlight. As the wheels were about to touch the ground, the headlight turned green. The light drew closer and closer, until he felt it closing in around him._

*****HPG*****

The dream woke him again. He shot up in bed, short of breath, panicked. The clock read 2:17, like usual. He fell back into bed, mulling over this new dream. The green light came back. Why now? What brought it up? What could have happened that brought it up?

Harry sat up again. He suddenly realised, nothing happened _before_ the dream, but something strange would always happen the day after he had them. Just before the Zoo Incident, he had the dream about the bearded man carrying him on the flying motorcycle. Before the letter came, he had the dream about the silver lighter. When Dumbledore called, he had the dream about the other man holding the lighter. What was going to happen today? It was his birthday, he quickly remembered. Hogwarts's Deputy Headmistress was coming to speak with them today. Were these dreams showing him something? Like...the future?

No, that wasn't possible. Nobody could predict the future. If that were the case, what did the dreams mean?

He remembered something else. He didn't have one of these dreams before the owl came to pick up their letter to Dumbledore. That put a significant dent in Harry's theory, he couldn't deny it. Still, Harry felt certain that the dreams were trying to tell him about future events, or at least about what to expect in the near future. When the rest of his family woke up in the morning, he would tell them of his theory, and see if they could say otherwise. For now, he just wanted to go back to sleep, and he did.

*****HPG*****

The next morning, Harry woke up at about eight o'clock in the morning, sharply taking in a breath and sitting up in his bed, albeit drowsily. He did not want to miss out on speaking to this deputy headmistress, whoever they may be. He threw back his sheets and jumped down to the floor. He dashed downstairs, jumping the last three steps to the main hallway. He ran into the kitchen where his mother cooked a hearty breakfast. Everyone was already wide awake.

“Happy Birthday, young man,” Jean said, bending down to kiss her son on the forehead. “Take a seat and I'll bring you your breakfast.”

Harry quickly sat down beside his dad as Hermione slid a glass of orange juice over to him, smiling. “Happy Birthday, Harry,” said his sister.

His father mussed his already messy hair and chuckled, “Happy Birthday, lad. Eleven's a good age to be.”

His mother set his breakfast in front of him, a hearty plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages and toast. Harry immediately tucked in and enjoyed the food his mother made. He swallowed and immediately said to his mother, “Thank you, mum.”

Jean chuckled. Laurence took a long drink from his coffee mug and turned to his son. “So, what would you like to do today?”

“You mean after that person from the school comes to talk to us?” replied Harry.

Laurence nodded and answered, “Yes, well after that.”

“Can we go to the cinema?”

“It's your birthday and you only want to go to the cinema?” asked Laurence, amused.

“There is something there we all can see,” Harry proffered. “I thought maybe we could—”

The phone rang before Harry could finish his suggestion, startling everyone. Laurence got up and answered it.

“Granger House,” he said. “Speaking.”

Some announcement on the other end caught Laurence by surprise, but he quickly composed himself and replied, “Yes. How do you do, Professor?”

He nodded his head a few times before saying, “Yes, ten o'clock would be just fine, thank you. We will see you then.”

Laurence hanged up the phone and returned to the table. After a few forkfuls of eggs, he looked up to see the stares of his wife and children. Setting his utensil down, swallowing his food, and wiping his mouth, Laurence spoke, “At ten o'clock, we'll be speaking with the Deputy Headmistress of that school that sent you the notice, Harry. I want both you kids on your best behaviour. Understood?”

Harry and Hermione nodded, and looked at each other, excited at who this person would be.

After breakfast, Harry and Hermione went upstairs, washed up and put on clean clothes. Harry thought it best to wear something with buttons, so he chose slacks and a red button-up shirt while Hermione came out wearing one of her favourite dresses, a yellow sundress decorated with daisies.

“Who do you think this person could be?” Hermione mused.

“I don't know,” answered Harry.

“Do you really think they have me down for being a student there?” she asked nervously.

“I would. If I'm good enough, you're more than good enough. You're certainly brighter than I am by a long shot. What school wouldn't want you?”

Hermione blushed slightly at her brother's sentiments. As they got downstairs, the doorbell rang. All four Grangers turned to the door, none of them expecting such a speedy arrival from their expected guest. Ten o'clock must have come quicker than they thought.

Laurence got up and walked to the front door. Jean ushered the kids to the sitting room. Harry heard his father open the door, and an older woman speak.

“Inspector Granger?” she asked.

“Yes,” Laurence replied. “You must be the Deputy Headmistress?”

“That's right. Professor Minerva McGonagall. Pleased to meet you.”

“Please, come in,” he said to her, stepping aside for her to enter. A spartan-looking woman stepped briskly inside. She wore square-rimmed spectacles and had her hair done up in a tight bun. A tartan sash was wrapped around her waist. She took in her entire surroundings with a kind demeanour, before her eyes fell upon Jean standing to greet her guest. Jean held out her hand.

“Good morning,” Jean said most courteously. “I'm Jean Granger.”

McGonagall took her hand. “A pleasure,” McGonagall replied. Her eyes fell upon the children and she did her best to smile, which made her lips tightly drawn.

“You must be Hermione,” McGonagall said pleasantly, to which Hermione nodded and smiled politely. McGonagall extended her hand to her and she shook it politely.

Her eyes then fell upon Harry, and her regard changed to that of one of greater respect. “Mister Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Harry hesitantly extended his hand to McGonagall, who gave it a firm shake. “Potter-Granger,” Harry said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My surname is Potter-Granger,” he repeated.

“We allowed Harry to change his name,” Jean explained. “He kept it as Potter up until he was eight, then asked us then if we would let him change it to Potter-Granger.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore said something about that before I made my way here,” their visitor recalled. “In any case, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Potter-Granger.”

“Well,” Laurence said, gesturing to a chair for McGonagall. “We appreciate you taking the time to come and speak with us.”

“I am very glad to do so,” McGonagall stated primly, taking her seat. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you,” Jean replied kindly.

“So,” Laurence said. “I think we need to talk about Hogwarts.”

“Yes, we do,” McGonagall explained. “Simply put, Hogwarts is the most preeminent school of magic in all of Britain.”

The Grangers looked upon McGonagall with suspicion and disbelief. Magic? She seriously said that? With a straight face, even. Harry could tell his parents were unconvinced, but still showed their guest some courtesy.

“Professor McGonagall, my wife and I really don't think that being a magician is a good career path for either of our children,” Laurence said steadfastly.

“You seem to have misinterpreted what I meant,” McGonagall replied.

“Then, elaborate your meaning, please,” said Jean, even more suspicious of the woman who had entered their home.

“You think I speak merely of illusions, of sleight of hand and sawing people in half,” McGonagall explained. “No, I speak of the kind of magic you hear told in your stories. I speak of the kind of magic of which you may cast spells and curses, that can change one object into another, from which one may brew potions which can bring about so many wondrous results. The kind of magic that has left so many in this world gobsmacked and awestruck. That is the magic of which I speak.”

The explanation ended, and the Granger family was left flabbergasted. Harry and Hermione were fascinated at what Professor McGonagall just said. Laurence and Jean, however, bore sceptical expressions, Laurence more so than his wife.

He stood up to his full height, not taking his gaze off the visitor in his family room. With every bit of authority he could muster, he said, “I think you had better leave now, madam.”

“Dad,” Harry cried, wanting to hear more of their visitor's explanation.

“No,” Laurence said. “You and Dumbledore spin some ridiculous nonsense about my children being able to do magic, and then you come in here and expect us to entrust their education and, more importantly, their well-being to you?”

“Magic exists, Inspector,” McGonagall calmly replied. “You may have been led to believe it is nothing but fantasy, but it does exist and many people are able to perform it. Both of your children are two of those people.”

“Madam, this man Dumbledore has been toying with our emotions for about a month now, and here, in our home, you insult our intelligence. On my son's birthday, no less. I must ask you to leave here and never come back. And kindly inform Mister Dumbledore we will not speak with him unless he comes face to face with us.”

“Have you ever wondered how it is your children are involved in wondrous and unexplainable events? How books and toys would wind up in their possessions without reason, perhaps?” McGonagall enquired.

Harry could tell McGonagall came prepared. She knew more than she let on, and she knew that his father had thought this through, that he knew every strange occurrence that had been attributed to Harry. His father kept up his façade and wasn't about to let it falter.

“Your children have done incredible things without knowing they are capable, and you know this, Inspector, as does your wife,” McGonagall spoke. Getting to her feet, she continued, “Of course, if you require a demonstration by me that it is possible, I'd be more than happy to provide it.”

“By all means!” Laurence shouted. “What could you possibly do? No, wait, let me guess. You'll make the whole house disappear and leave us standing on a dirt lot where it used to be?”

“No, nothing so ostentatious as that,” McGonagall said, before she took a step forward and—

Upon the table landed a grey tabby cat with black stripes and square markings around its eyes, square markings matching those of Professor McGonagall's glasses. Jean screamed and jumped back in her seat, as did Harry and Hermione. Laurence stayed where he was standing, his eyes wide in shock. All four members of the Granger household stared in bewilderment, mouths agape and eyes fixed open as they watched the cat slink around the table a few times. It leapt onto the sofa between the two children, who moved away from it, then jumped onto the back of the sofa, walking back and forth along it nonchalantly. The cat dropped down to the left arm of the sofa by Harry, and leapt off it, transforming back into the woman that was visiting them.

The family was utterly dumbfounded at what they just witnessed. Harry and Hermione, though, were mystified and excited by it.

Picking up her cup and taking a long draught, McGonagall asked, “Are you still not convinced?”

Laurence took his seat, pretty much falling into it. Shock still was written across his face, but he was still coherent enough to answer her. “Still rather doubtful... But, we are more willing to hear you out than before.”

McGonagall took her seat again. Taking a bite from one of the ginger biscuits, she turned to Jean and remarked, “These biscuits are delicious, Missus Granger. Ginger is my favourite.”

“Thank you,” Jean replied, most flattered but flustered still from the display she witnessed.

“Begging your pardon,” Hermione uttered, “but I thought you _weren't_ going to do something ostentatious.”

“Well,” McGonagall replied, “I meant to say 'nothing so ostentatious that it would be seen by anyone outside this house.'”

This elicited a chuckle from Harry and Hermione.

“Perhaps, I should begin by explaining a bit about the school,” McGonagall said.

“Yes, please do,” Laurence requested.

“The full name of the school is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry,” McGonagall explained. “It has existed for nearly a thousand years and has produced some of the greatest witches and wizards the country and even the world have ever known.”

“Like Merlin?” Harry asked, keenly interested now.

“Sadly, no,” McGonagall answered politely. “The wizard everyone knows as Merlin passed away long before the school's founding.”

The Granger parents looked at each other in amazement. Laurence mouthed “Merlin?” to Jean in utter disbelief. Jean could only shrug in astonishment to match.

“What other wizards?” Hermione asked, her interest piqued to the nth degree.

“I'm not sure you've heard of them,” McGonagall answered.

“Nostradamus?” Hermione asked.

“He was French, and was not a student of Hogwarts,” McGonagall replied. “But, yes, he was a wizard.”

Jean mouthed the name “Nostradamus” to her husband in surprise. Laurence only shook his head in bewilderment.

“How can you be so certain our children are...can do magic?” Laurence asked, setting down his tea and leaning forward in keen interest. “I mean, you sent Harry a letter. That must mean there's some certainty about him. But, no letter has come for Hermione, and she hasn't shown any such potential, at least not in that capacity.”

“Professor Dumbledore withheld Hermione's letter for reasons that were not made clear to me,” McGonagall replied. “Which reminds me...” McGonagall reached into her handbag and withdrew two envelopes and handed them to Laurence. “These are the proper enrolment notices along with school supply lists. All you need to do is sign them and Harry and Hermione will officially be students of Hogwarts, though a fee still must be paid for Hermione's admission.”

Laurence passed them to Jean, who took them nervously. McGonagall continued, “If I were to put forward my own guess on the matter, I would say the Headmaster wanted both Harry and Hermione introduced at the same time so they both would see everything and not be overcome with the shock of seeing it all alone. As for displaying her magical potential, Hermione most definitely has done so. The most recent act of magic she performed was not but a few weeks ago, where she vanished a glass partition at a zoo.”

Hermione's face went pale as her parents and Harry looked at her in shock.

“That was _you_ ?” Harry yelled. “They banned me and I got grounded because of _you_?”

“I didn't mean to!” Hermione cried, panicked and defensive.

“You could have said something!”

“What could I have said?!”

“Harry! Hermione!” Jean chastised her children. “Now's not the time. We will settle this later. Understood?”

Harry settled back down, though he still seethed at having been punished for his sister's actions, even if they were accidental.

“You're absolutely certain Hermione can do these things as well?” Laurence asked.

“Very certain,” McGonagall stressed. “She has shown a great potential in our registry, as has your son.”

“You keep track of all the children in Britain who can do magic?” said Laurence, slightly worried.

“We and the Ministry of Magic do, yes,” McGonagall confirmed.

“There's a Ministry of Magic?” Laurence asked, surprised.

“Yes, and it governs Magical Law within Great Britain, but that's not important right now.”

Jean stepped in. “Professor, you're telling us that magic exists and that there are laws and governing bodies for it as well. I think we should know at least a little about it.”

“I certainly want to,” said Hermione, interested, though still unsettled at the revelation made about her.

“That can be explained in due time,” said McGonagall. “For now, all you need to know is that Hogwarts has in its registry the names of all Magical children within Great Britain and the Ministry monitors whatever accidental magic they perform. No punishment is meted out for accidental magic, as a child is not entirely in control of their gifts, but it is noted on their records, like Hermione's act of vanishing the glass at the zoo, or earlier this year, when Harry changed his teacher's hair colour to a lurid shade of blue. Cyan, I believe it was.”

Laurence glanced at Harry with a wry smile on his face. Harry looked beside himself with shock. Defensively, he uttered, “I didn't mean to.”

Laurence chuckled, but composed himself before turning back to McGonagall.

She continued, “For now, I think it best that we focus on the school. Hogwarts accepts all Magical children starting at the age of eleven, regardless of parentage. Be they pure-blood or Muggle-born, any Magical child is welcome in Hogwarts, and are strongly encouraged to join.”

“Muggle?” Hermione asked, perplexed.

“It's a wizard term for non-Magical people, such as your parents,” McGonagall replied.

“So...” Harry asked, “my mum and dad, James and Lily, could they do magic?”

“They could,” McGonagall confirmed, adding, “and they were named Head Boy and Girl in their seventh year.”

“What happened to them?” Harry pressed. “Are they really dead?”

At this question, McGonagall quailed slightly. Her eyes showed that she was uncomfortable with explaining the circumstances to James and Lily's fates. She nervously looked down at her tea.

“Yes, they are,” McGonagall stated. “Forgive me, but it is a sensitive subject, for all witches and wizards. I do not wish to address that matter right now.”

The family began to protest her statement, before she added, “Respectfully, I ask to speak with you, Inspector, and your wife in private about the matter after I've attended to my business here in London. That way, you may explain to your son, in a kinder manner than anyone else, even myself, would be capable.”

The family shared a glance at each other. Harry could tell his father had made up his mind on the matter, though he looked uneasy about his decision. His mother's expression was almost a mirror of his father's.

“That would be fine,” Laurence said in a low voice.

Jean turned back to McGonagall and cautiously asked, “How long are the school terms?”

“The term starts on the 1 st  of September and goes until the end of June. All students stay on the grounds during the term. Older students are permitted to visit the nearby village on designated weekends. The school lets students off for Christmas and Easter holidays to visit home, though they may stay on the grounds during the holidays.”

“What sort of curriculum will you follow?”

“Hogwarts teaches all of its students the core subjects of magic: Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, Astronomy, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Most importantly, however, what Hogwarts teaches its students is control. Control over their magic so they won't do anything rash or potentially dangerous, and so as not to expose the Magical Community to the outside world.”

Laurence asked, “What about Maths, Composition, Science?”

“Those subjects will not be taught outright within the school, but all the school's subjects feature some aspect of them,” McGonagall clarified.

McGonagall sensed that the family was nervous about all of this, especially the children. They had been so intrigued about this all. But, now hearing that they wouldn't be learning anything familiar was rather daunting. The parents seemed antsy about this fact as well. It was one thing to find out that your children were granted enrolment in a prestigious school, but quite another to learn that they wouldn't be taught anything familiar.

“I must stress that it is crucial for Harry and Hermione to take up this education,” McGonagall said. “If they do not, other incidents may transpire. And there are consequences for any witch or wizard who does not get a magical education. And if they should spontaneously exhibit those traits in public, even more severe punishments are to follow.”

This was the wrong tack to follow with them, as they grew more nervous, though McGonagall knew it had to be brought up. She decided to ease up in her finish.

“I don't mean to frighten you,” McGonagall said, taking on a more consoling tone of voice. “I mean to say that this is an opportunity of an amazing magnitude. There are so many wonders to be seen within the Magical World. They will gain knowledge to which very few people outside our community are privileged. Your children will make friendships that shall last their lifetimes. And once you make this choice, you will not regret it. And, more to the point, they will become greater people than they already are.”

The family's apprehension lightened considerably at McGonagall's last piece of advice. Both Harry and Hermione looked ready to snatch the notices out of their parents' possession and sign it on the spot, though that wouldn't have been in any way legal. Laurence and Jean glanced at each other, nervous but eager to enable this opportunity for their children.

They turned back to McGonagall and Jean said, “If we do entrust our children to Hogwarts, will they be safe?”

“Hogwarts is one of the safest places in all the world, Missus Granger,” McGonagall stated. “The enchantments in place on the grounds protect all the children and staff. No Muggle can detect it and it cannot be found on any map of the world. No one gets onto the grounds without prior approval from the Headmaster and all activities are monitored closely by experienced witches and wizards. Harry and Hermione will be in more than capable hands.”

Laurence looked over to Jean, who gave him a slight grin and an almost unnoticeable nod of the head. With that, Laurence said to her, “We'd like to see more of this wizard's world, if you don't mind. I don't want to sign anything without knowing what our children can expect.”

“I must agree with your sentiments, and Professor Dumbledore said to expect such a request,” McGonagall stated. “I am to escort you into London. As I have said, I have business to attend there.”

“What sort of business?” Laurence asked.

“School business,” McGonagall replied. “I am not permitted to say any more than that.”

“Where exactly are we going?” asked Jean, a little more eagerly than she intended.

“The heart of Magical London,” said McGonagall simply.

With that, the Granger family got up and McGonagall led them to make their journey to the Magical World.


	5. Magical London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Five  
**Magical London**

 

 

The trip into London was odd, at least it seemed that way for McGonagall. The family insisted upon taking their car into London, with McGonagall as the front passenger. McGonagall looked upon the car with a great deal of apprehension. Harry, Hermione and Jean climbed into the back of the car, with Jean in the middle, while Laurence guided her to the front passenger seat, reassuring her that she would be safe. He had to show her how to put on her seat belt and soon got to the driver's seat. The start of the engine caused her to tense up and grab the armrest in fright. Getting the car moving caused her to look around in bewilderment. The professor would throw herself against the seat back and brace herself against the dashboard for even the simplest braking at a stop sign or a light. When a car would pass, she would tense up and shift more toward Laurence, frightened at the sudden appearance of the other car. Jean would place her hand on the professor's shoulder to try and calm her, but her efforts would quickly be undone by something else coming up during the drive.

“You don't travel much, do you?” asked Laurence.

“Not by Muggle means, no,” McGonagall replied, before a motorcycle zooming by startled the living daylights out of her.

Despite her unnerved state on the journey into London, McGonagall was aware enough to direct Laurence to Charing Cross Road, telling him to pull up to the curb a little ways down the street from a book shop. McGonagall quickly got out of the car, as if she were a sailor stranded on the ocean, coming to land for the first time in weeks, though not as desperately. The family got out of the car much more calmly, gazing at the witch's odd behaviour with confusion and apprehension. McGonagall quickly composed herself and nonchalantly led the Granger family just past the book shop, as if the trip never happened.

“Here we are,” McGonagall said, relieved to be out of the car.

They stood at an abandoned shop front sandwiched between the book shop and a record shop on its other side.

The family looked upon this place differently—Harry and Hermione in astonishment as they saw a sign appear over the shop's door, showing a witch stirring at a cracked cauldron. Laurence and Jean, however, could only see the abandoned shop.

“What are you playing at?” asked Laurence doubtfully.

“What do you mean, Inspector?” the witch replied.

“This is an abandoned shop,” Laurence said. “There's nothing in there.”

“To Muggles, it is abandoned,” explained the professor. “To witches and wizards, this is the Leaky Cauldron, one of the most well-known Wizards' pubs in all of Britain. It is through here we must travel to get to where we need to go.”

“She's right, Dad,” Hermione assured her father. “I can see the sign over the door.”

“You see?” said McGonagall happily. “You will need to take the hands of your children so you can enter. There are enchantments in place to direct Muggles elsewhere.”

Hermione quickly took her father's hand, while Harry took Jean's. McGonagall opened the door and revealed that the shop was not abandoned as it appeared to everyone.

McGonagall led the family into the pub. It was a dingy place, occupied with only a scant number of patrons. The barman, a bald man who looked like a toothless walnut, was cleaning glasses behind the bar. Two old women, one smoking a pipe, sipped on glasses of sherry in a corner booth. Two wizards, one a little man in a top hat, the other a big hulking man with bushy black hair and beard who held a tankard of some sort of beer, spoke animatedly at the bar about some match between two teams called the Arrows and the Prides, with the larger man speaking in favour of the latter. The large man turned his head and caught sight of McGonagall leading four people who looked like they had just wandered into a foreign country by mistake. The big man's eyes glinted happily, like shiny black beetles, as he caught sight of the professor, and he called out, “Minerva! Fancy seeing you here!”

The big man stood on his feet, relieving a nearly buckled bar stool of his weight, and Harry and his family saw him stand to his full height, which was considerably great. His head nearly touched the ceiling. McGonagall greeted him most cordially, “Hello, Hagrid. What are you doing down here? I thought you needed to be up at Hogwarts, preparing the grounds for the new term.”

 

“Oh, I have been,” Hagrid stated, “but I already did everything I needed to get done for today, and tomorrow as well. So, Dumbledore let me have the day off. Plus, I needed to come down here to get a few particulars myself.”

“Well, as long as you're here by Dumbledore's permission,” McGonagall said with resignation.

“You work at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“That's right, Miss,” Hagrid boasted. Before Hagrid continued with her, he turned to McGonagall and asked, “Who's she?”

“These are the Grangers, Laurence and Jean,” McGonagall replied, gesturing behind her. The Grangers smiled and waved to Hagrid, who responded in kind. “They are Muggles,” McGonagall continued, “and their children, Hermione and Harry, will be first-years this term.”

“Is that right?” Hagrid asked with great eagerness. “Well,” he said, beaming down at Hermione, “my name is Rubeus Hagrid. I'm Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, and I expect I'll be seeing you at some point in the term. You and your brother.” Hagrid looked over to Harry, and asked him, “What was your name again, lad?”

“Harry,” he told the gamekeeper.

“Harry! That's a damn good name. Knew a great young boy by that name myself. Think he'd be 'bout as old as you are now...”

He trailed off and a look of recognition crept over the man's bearded face. Hagrid turned to McGonagall and asked, “You said their name's Granger?”

“That's right,” McGonagall said quietly.

Harry's eyes fell back upon Harry, and his eyes welled up with tears. “Harry Potter...” Hagrid had said, far louder than he might have intended.

The entire pub went silent and still. All eyes turned to the family that just entered, each and every one filled with surprise and awe. Harry could feel his stomach going heavy and cold. Hagrid very quickly took Harry into his arms in a bone-crushing hug, lifting him off the ground. Laurence, Jean and Hermione cried out in shock as the bearded stranger took Harry into the hug unannounced.

“I knew I'd get to see you again someday!” Hagrid bellowed joyously.

“Put my son down!” Jean shouted, prying at Hagrid's right arm, while Laurence pulled at Hagrid's left.

Somehow, Hagrid came to his senses and, realising that he was in public and swinging about a boy about three or four feet off the ground, set Harry back on the ground.

“I'm sorry about that,” Hagrid lamented. “Very sorry.”

His apology was lost as the rest of the patrons came up to greet Harry. The old witch with the pipe came up, and said, “Doris Crockford, can't believe I'm meeting you at last.”

The little man with the top hat came forward and rapidly shook Harry's hand. “Dedalus Diggle, Mister Potter. So honoured to meet you,” he said just as rapidly.

When he drew himself to his full height, Laurence let out a gasp of recognition. “You!”

The wizard called Diggle looked upon Laurence with confusion.

“I kept you from getting roughed up on Halloween ten years ago!” Laurence went on to say. “You gave me a gold coin for it.”

“That was you?” Diggle cried, pleasantly surprised. As Harry's father and Diggle reminisced with each other, Tom the Barman came around and tearfully shook Harry's hand.

“Welcome back, Mister Potter. Welcome back,” the barman cried.

Harry felt everything closing in on him. This was unbelievable. He couldn't breathe. He needed to get out of here, away from everyone fawning over him. He moved through the crowd, before he bumped into a body. A sharp, albeit brief, pain shot through Harry's head, and quickly abated as he stepped back from whoever he bumped into. Harry turned to the man, just as the man turned around as well. He was of a small stature and his head was wrapped in a purple turban. Upon seeing Harry, he grew nervous and starstruck.

“H-H-Harry P-P-P-Potter,” stuttered the man, wringing his hand in a nervous manner. “C-C-Can't tell you how-how p-p-p-pleased I am to m-m-meet you.”

“Quirinus!” McGonagall said in surprise, bringing the Grangers forward to introduce them to the stammering man in the purple turban.. “I didn't expect to see you down here today.”

“Ah, M-Minerva, h-h-hello!” stammered the man. “S-So p-p-pleasantly surprised to s-s-see you here.”

McGonagall said to the family, “Allow me to introduce Quirinus Quirrell, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Quirinus, these are the Grangers. Their children, Hermione and Harry here, will be first-years soon enough.”

“S-S-S-Splendid!” Quirrell cried.

“What exactly does Defence Against the Dark Arts entail?” Laurence asked.

“O-Oh, j-j-just spells t-to ward off d-dark creatures and d-dark spells. F-F-Fearfully f-fascinating subject...N-N-Not that you n-n-need, eh, P-P-Potter?”

McGonagall began ushering the family to the back of the pub. “We need to be on our way. Excuse us, Quirinus.” To Tom, she asked, “Is it the same brick as always?”

“It is, Professor,” Tom gladly confirmed. “Have a good day!”

As soon as they were out of the pub and in the courtyard in back, Harry let out a sigh of relief, glad to be away from the awestruck patrons.

“That was so bizarre,” commented Hermione.

“What was that all about?” Jean asked.

McGonagall looked back from where she was, gazing intently at the brick wall and counting the bricks off to the side of an aluminium dustbin. “I beg your pardon?” she said, in a detached manner.

“Professor, why were those people so fascinated with our son showing up here?” asked Laurence.

“That has to do with our deal, Inspector,” McGonagall replied gingerly over her shoulder, “which will be fulfilled as I have said it would. For now...”

McGonagall withdrew her wand and tapped the third brick to the left of the dustbin three times. Suddenly, the bricks shuffled and rearranged themselves, opening into an archway that led onto an alleyway decorated with brightly-coloured awnings and bustling with witches and wizards of all ages.

“Welcome,” said McGonagall proudly, “to Diagon Alley.”

The Grangers stepped into Diagon Alley with wide-eyed wonder. Harry and Hermione could see something amazing every way they turned. There was an ice cream shop. A book shop called Flourish and Blotts carried books of all shapes and sizes, ranging from the size of a postage stamp to one as big as a paving stone. Harry could already see Hermione gravitating toward it. There was a shop called Eeylops' Owl Emporium, dark but full of glinting eyes. Squawks and screeches and all other manners of bird calls sounded from inside. An apothecary sold all sorts of items like Lethe water and dragon livers. And every person on this street walked about like it was just another day in their lives, which it was.

“I always forget how amazing this place is,” McGonagall mused aloud to the Grangers. “That is, until I see someone who has come here for the very first time.”

“Yes,” Jean said, still awestruck at the sight that stood before her.

“How long has this been here?” asked Laurence, just as detached as his wife.

“Since the days of ancient Londinuim,” explained McGonagall. “Though, it was much smaller in those days, and not nearly as impressive.”

Jean asked McGonagall, “You said you teach the children not to expose the Magical World to the Muggles. Why on earth not?”

“As I see it, there are three key reasons,” McGonagall explained. “The first is the most well-known. Witches and wizards have been persecuted so often that it has become a second nature for us to seclude ourselves from those that would mean us harm. The second would be an economical one. The Muggle world would want magical solutions for everything, even the simplest things that they can do all by themselves. The demand would become too much for all of us to fulfill.”

“So, what would be the third reason?” asked Hermione, in a tone that said she already had the answer in her mind.

“The third reason, in my opinion, would be this question: how long would it take for the first reason to overtake the second reason?”

Harry watched as children gawked at a gleaming new broomstick on display in the window, next to a uniformed, heavily padded mannequin. One of the kids said, most excitedly, “Look! It's the Nimbus 2000!”

One of their friends cried, “No way! It's the fastest one yet!”

Another friend said, “All the players for the YM got one. They're bound to win the Cup this year!”

Laurence had unfolded the supplies list, perusing it in utter disbelief. The list called for them to buy things like a pewter cauldron and dragon hide gloves and so many other things that were no doubt going to cost a significant amount of money.

“Dragon-hide gloves?” Laurence asked in great surprise. “Do they mean from an actual dragon? Big fire-breathing lizard type thing?”

“I'm not sure what other type of dragon might come to mind for you, Inspector,” McGonagall said, almost confused, “but yes, that is the sort of dragon to which the list refers.”

“Professor,” Laurence said, “how can we pay for all this? Do wizards even take pounds?”

“Unfortunately, no,” McGonagall answered. “For that, we must visit Gringotts.” Upon seeing the Grangers' confusion, she explained, “The bank for the Magical Community. One of the most secure locations in the entire Magical World, right after Hogwarts.”

The professor led the family down the Alley to a tall building, its marble as white as a winter's first snow. Scaling the steps, Harry was shocked to see standing on either side of the doors...two creatures, for lack of a better term, both with angry coal black eyes, mottled skin and long pointed ears and noses, clad in iron armour holding spears also made of iron.

“The bank is run by the Goblin race,” McGonagall said, as if it were nothing but a footnote. For the Grangers, it was quite unnerving to learn that goblins existed. Harry, though, thought it made sense that if magic really existed, then so did goblins. The two goblins bowed to the people as they stepped through the burnished bronze doors and up to a set of shinier silver doors that bore an inscription:

 

Here stands Gringotts, bastion of wealth.  
_Welcome, and enter, but do control yourself._  
Yours is for the taking, should it truly be yours.  
_But if that which you seek under our floors_  
_Belongs to another, and you take it away,_  
_You shall not live to see the next day._  
_Turn away now, thieves, for you have our word:  
_ _Our wrath is most mighty when it is incurred._

 

Harry felt himself growing more and more nervous, but slightly intrigued, to his surprise, as he read those words. McGonagall came up to him and handed him what looked to be a gold key.

“This is for you, Mr Potter,” she said. “The key to your vault.”

“I have a vault here?” Harry asked, perplexed.

“Your father opened it for you when you were born. You will need to make a withdrawal for several Galleons so that you may buy your school things.”

“Galleons?” Jean asked.

“Wizards' currency,” McGonagall explained. “For each gold Galleon, there are 17 silver Sickles. For each Sickle, there are 29 bronze Knuts.”

“So, 493 Knuts equals one Galleon,” guessed Hermione.

“Yes, that's right,” said the professor, most impressed. “You should consider taking our arithmancy classes at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, when they are available to you. I'm certain you would excel at it.”

As if just remembering something, she turned back to them. “Before I forget, the fee required for Hermione is 750 Galleons. When you pay it, we hold her place within the school and she will always have a place at the school thereafter.  When she completes her final term, the fee shall be refunded to you. Now, then, on to the business at hand.”

The professor pushed open the silver doors and led the family into a very stately bank. Several goblins sat on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in ledgers and weighing coins on brass scales. As Professor McGonagall stepped up to the tallest desk at the very end of the lobby, Harry's eyes strayed to a goblin weighing what looked like rubies, all about the size of a grapefruit, and then examining each one through an eyeglass.

Professor McGonagall made a cough to get the head goblin's attention. It worked, as the goblin looked up slightly bemused at McGonagall's presence, but recognised her, set down his quill, and took on an air of great respect. The goblin greeted her, “Professor McGonagall, good day. How may we at Gringotts help you?”

McGonagall said, respectfully to the goblin, “I am here on behalf of Professor Dumbledore. He has asked for me, in his stead, to remove an item from one of the Hogwarts vaults.”

With that, she handed the goblin a letter, which he opened quickly but took his time reading in its entirety. After folding it neatly, sliding it back into its envelope, and sticking it in a drawer, he replied, “We will gladly fulfill Professor Dumbledore's request. Is there anything else?”

“Yes. Mister Harry Potter wishes to make a withdrawal,” McGonagall stated in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice.

The goblin looked over to Harry, gesturing him to come forward with a long, gnarled finger ending with a pointed, black fingernail. Harry did as the goblin asked, feeling that these were not creatures with which to trifle.

“Do you have your key, Mister Potter?” the goblin asked.

“Yes, right here,” Harry said, holding out the key to his vault. The goblin took it, glimpsed at it briefly, and handed it back to Harry.

“Your key is in good order,” said the goblin. “You will need to speak with Griphook before you can make your withdrawal, sir. He will be at this third desk to my right.”

The head goblin raised a hand and gestured to the armoured goblin standing behind him, who briskly stepped forward. “Escort the Professor down to vault number...” the head goblin ordered, checking the letter before finishing surreptitiously, “713.”

The head goblin returned to his ledger. The armoured goblin began walking down the hall leading to the vaults. McGonagall quickly followed him.

The Granger family turned to the desk pointed out to them and took their seats. After a few minutes, a swarthy-looking goblin with a pointed black beard stepped forward from the passage behind the desk. Looking upon the family with an unreadable expression, the goblin stepped up to the desk. Standing at his full height, he wasn't nearly as tall as Harry, maybe half a head shorter, but Harry still felt intimidated by him. He could tell his family was too.

“I am called Griphook,” the swarthy goblin stated. “I am the goblin in charge of managing all accounts belonging to the Potter family.” Looking upon Harry, he asked, “You would be Mister Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, a bit nervously, adding, for the sake of being honest, “Harry Potter-Granger.”

The goblin seemed surprised by this fact, and asked, “But, your parents were James and Lily Potter, am I correct?”

“Yes, they were my birth parents,” Harry replied. Upon hearing this, the goblin seemed almost kinder.

“A pleasure finally to meet you,” Griphook said, extending his hand to Harry, who took it and gave it a firm shake. Looking upon the family surrounding Harry, he asked, “Would you be his guardians?”

“Yes, we adopted Harry as a baby,” Jean stated.

“Very good,” Griphook said confidently. “It's better for a guardian to be present during these discussions.” Griphook brought out a large black ledger, set it on the desk with a slam, and opened it, it seemed, for his own review. He dragged his finger down the page, stopping at the very bottom.

“The Potter family holdings are considerable,” Griphook recited. “At present, there is one vault to which you will have readily available access. It is specifically for the purpose of your education. Your father opened the vault, nearly a day after your birth, with a deposit of 2,000 Galleons, making regular monthly deposits of 300 Galleons, including the month he opened the account, up until the time of his death. With 7% interest, compounded monthly, the balance at that time was 6,898 Galleons, 2 Sickles, and 18 Knuts. In the time since his death, the account has continued to accrue interest, again at 7% compounded monthly, and the current balance stands at 13,623 Galleons, 2 Sickles, and 19 Knuts.”

Griphook's explanation left the family more confused than they had been upon hearing the opening deposit. Griphook picked up on this confusion and asked Laurence and Jean, “Are you Muggles, perchance?”

“Er, yes, my wife and I are,” Laurence answered. “We're not entirely sure if that's a lot, really.”

Griphook chuckled slightly and explained further, “The exchange rate currently stands at five pounds and twelve pence for one Galleon. Converted to pounds sterling, at this present rate, the balance for this account equals sixty-nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty pounds and fifty-six pence.”

This brought astonishment to the faces of the Granger family. Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew his mum and dad had set aside some money for Harry for when he would go to university, but never imagined his birth parents had done anything like that.

“Very surprising news, is it not?” asked the goblin.

“I should say so,” Laurence answered.

“What else is there?” Harry asked, eager to hear of what other wealth his birth father had in the past. Griphook flipped through some pages of the ledger and stopped at another page.

“James Potter held the deeds to several properties spread throughout Britain before he died. Those properties were located in Manchester, Norwich, Holyhead, Godric's Hollow, Belfast, Edinburgh, and here in Greater London, in Kensington. In the event of his death, your father stated that all the properties—save for the one in Godric's Hollow—be sold, and they have been. Your mother was listed as the primary benefactor, but given both your parents' deaths, the profits from the sales of those properties have been placed in a trust that contains the majority of the Potter family's wealth. That trust shall be bequeathed to you once you come of age at seventeen.”

“His father was that rich?” Laurence asked, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“As I said, sir,” Griphook answered forbiddingly, “the Potter family holdings are considerable.”

“When can I take some money out of my vault?” asked Harry excitedly.

“We can do that right now,” the goblin replied. “But, in the interest of...safety,” the goblin said that word with disdain, “we require one of your guardians to accompany you. Before we do that, though, you must sign a form to say they are permitted to access your vault.”

Harry quickly signed the form saying his parents had his permission to visit his vault, even though they were Muggles and couldn't really get to Gringotts without a wizard's assistance. He also allowed Hermione to access it as well.

When all that was done, Griphook asked, “Now, who shall you bring with you, Mister Potter?”

Laurence quickly looked to Jean, who leaned forward and said, “I'll go with him.”

“Very good, madam,” said Griphook. “Please follow me.”

The goblin pushed open a small door to his right. Harry and Jean nervously stepped through it and follow the goblin down the passage directly behind his desk. The passage was narrow and dark. Harry could just barely discern the goblin's small stature. They finally stepped out onto a stone platform, the only notable thing here was the lantern dangling on a pole in the very center of the platform. Griphook pursed his lips and whistled shrilly. The sound made Harry and his mother wince. A rumbling followed shortly after and a wrought-iron cart rolled to the platform, stopping very sharply.

“Climb aboard,” Griphook said, gesturing the son and mother to the carriage. Harry and Jean climbed onto the carriage. Griphook took down the lantern and set it in the front seat, before he got in himself. The controls seemed to be only two levers. Griphook shoved the left lever forward and the carriage shot forward. The cart barreled down a dark tunnel, the only light being the lantern beside Griphook. Harry clutched his mother's hand, mostly for her benefit. He knew she hated roller coasters, and this was worse than all of those. Harry felt the same way, recalling that this must have been how McGonagall felt in their car. How she thought that was dangerous compared to these carts, he didn't know, especially considering that she had go on one herself to that Hogwarts vault.

The cart came to a sudden stop, so sudden that Harry was surprised they all hadn't been hurled off the cart onto the tracks in front of them. They had arrived at a vault marked DCLXXXVII. Griphook stepped off the cart and cried out, “Vault number 687!” Jean stepped out, followed quickly by Harry. Griphook stopped at the door and held out his hand, saying, “Your key, please, Mister Potter. Madam, would you hold the lantern on the door, please?”

Harry handed the key to Griphook. Jean took the lantern and shone it on the door as the goblin asked. The goblin took the key, inserted it into the keyhole, and turned it sharply. The locks whirred and grated with loud groans. Soon, however, the vault door opened with a hiss and a cloud of greenish-yellow smoke seeped out. Griphook grabbed the door and pulled it open the rest of the way. With the door open all the way, Harry and Jean's eyes went wide as they saw a great many stacks of gold Galleons resting in the centre of a beat-up wood table. Circling those were smaller stacks of silver Sickles, while the bronze Knuts were scattered all about the floor.

“Incredible,” Jean whispered in complete awe.

“Yes,” the goblin commented in a rather banal tone, before stating in a more business like manner, “By my estimates, the school supplies for a first-year student costs approximately 300 Galleons total.”

“Well then, that's what we'll take out, Mr Griphook,” Jean told the goblin.

“But, what about Hermione?” asked Harry.

“What about Hermione, dear?”

“Aren't we going to pay for her things? To get into the school?”

“Of course we are, dear,” her mother said gently, knowing what he wanted to do. “We're not taking money that's rightfully yours to pay for Hermione's admission or her supplies. It's sweet of you to want to, but we can't make you do that.”

“This is the easiest way to do it, Mum,” Harry said. “Plus, the goblins might charge a fee for exchanging pounds.”

“We do,” the goblin was quick to confirm, apparently having overheard Harry's comment. “It's quite exorbitant, but not without reason.”

Harry asked, “How come?”

“It is a most taxing affair for Gringotts and its goblins to reintroduce Muggle money into the Muggle World without attracting attention, sir.”

Harry looked at his mother. She looked back at him affectionately and quickly conceded to his decision. Jean, after doing the math in her head and taking into account Hermione's fee to get into the school, turned to the goblin and said, “Well, you heard my son, Mister Griphook. The withdrawal will be for 1,350 Galleons.”

“Yes, madam,” said the goblin. “Might I ask you both to step outside as I count out the necessary amounts?”

Harry and Jean moved away before he turned to the money and began sorting it all out most diligently. Within practically no time at all, the goblin stepped out holding two bags, one smaller than the other.

“I took the liberty of separating the amount for the fee into a separate bag,” Griphook stated. “It is entirely in Galleons, whereas the rest of your withdrawal is in an assortment of all three coins, totaling exactly 600 Galleons.”

Harry gladly took both bags in his hands and they all climbed into the cart once more.

“I don't suppose you could go a bit slower on the way back?” asked Jean anxiously.

“Our carts travel at one speed only,” Griphook said curtly.

Harry quickly took hold of his mother's hand as Griphook shoved the lever forward, sending the cart rocketing forward down the dark tunnel.

*****HPG*****

When Harry and Jean got back to the main lobby, Professor McGonagall and Laurence were speaking while Hermione read a pamphlet about opening a vault within the bank. The professor had a package wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine, and soon shoved it into the handbag she had with her as Harry and Jean came to meet them. Harry promptly handed the professor the bag with the fee for Hermione. She took it graciously. Just as promptly, Laurence signed their forms and thanked McGonagall for her help.

The Grangers and McGonagall walked out of the bank with money in hand. They soon saw the giant man, Hagrid, making his way through the crowd, straight for the family. Laurence quickly stepped in front of both his children and his wife to block the giant man from picking up his son again, or either Jean or Hermione. Hagrid, this time around, looked most apologetic and rather flustered, the latter probably owing to his practically running down Diagon Alley.

“Hello, sir,” Hagrid said, taking a gasping breath as he reached Gringotts. “I am truly sorry for my display back there at the Cauldron. It's just—that was the first time I ever saw Harry since he was a baby and—”

Jean cut off Hagrid and stepped forward, enquiring, “You knew my son when he was a baby?”

“Only very briefly, ma'am,” Hagrid replied, clarifying, “I got to see him a few days after he were born, and a handful of times after that.”

“Begging your pardon,” interrupted McGonagall, “but I am pressed for time, and I do not wish to renege on my promise to either of you.

“Again, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me—” Hagrid said again.

“Mister Hagrid,” Laurence said, very anxiously, “we accept your apology. But, we need to talk to Professor McGonagall for a short while. Excuse us. Harry, Hermione, come along.”

“I said I would speak only with you and Mrs Granger, Inspector,” McGonagall corrected him. “Hagrid can look after Harry and Hermione while we talk.”

“Professor,” whispered Jean to the professor. “This man is—”

“Hagrid is a very gentle person, despite his unruly and imposing appearance,” replied McGonagall assuringly. “You can entrust your children to him. He will see no harm comes to them.”

“I'd never let anything happen to Harry,” affirmed Hagrid, adding, “Or his sister.”

Laurence and Jean looked at each other nervously. After a last glance at the giant man, Laurence turned to McGonagall, and asked, “Where exactly are we going?”

“We will be at Flourish and Blotts, the bookshop here in the Alley,” she answered him.

Laurence bent down to his children. He said to them, uneasily, “If anything happens, you come straight to the bookshop. All right?”

“Yes, dad,” Harry and Hermione said simultaneously. McGonagall led the parents up the street. Jean looked over her shoulder, unsure about what would happen to her children.

“Right,” Hagrid said. “First thing you ought to get is your school robes. Come along this way.”

Hagrid led the children up the Alley to a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The way there seemed longer than it really was, mostly because both parties didn't know how to interact with each other. The giant man pointed the children to the door and told them he'd be waiting outside for them to be done.

As Harry and Hermione stepped inside, a plump witch dressed in mauve walked over to them, and said kindly, “Hello, dears. Hogwarts, I take it?”

Both Harry and Hermione nodded. The witch ushered them to stand on a pair of footstools. Two other witches draped robes over the both of them and began pinning them to the right length. Harry soon became aware of another boy standing on another footstool, having his robes fitted by another witch. He had a pale pointed face with sleek blond hair. He had a haughty air about him, and Harry had the strong feeling that he wasn't going to like this boy.

“Hogwarts, too?” the boy asked in a bored drawl.

Harry didn't reply verbally, only nodded.

“Father is out buying my books,” the boy said. “Mother is out getting things from the Apothecary. We'll be going to get a racing broom after this. Father is going to get the restriction on first-years not being allowed to play Quidditch lifted so I can compete.”

“I guess that's a good idea,” Harry said, without sounding even slightly interested.

“Of course it's a good idea,” snapped the boy. “That way I wouldn't have to wait a whole year to try out for the team. I'd actually get to play rather than sit about watching it all like everyone else. Do you play Quidditch?”

“No,” Harry said.

“Have you got a broom?”

“I might get one eventually,” said Harry, looking over at Hermione exasperatedly.

“Do you two know each other?” the boy asked snidely.

“I'm his sister,” said Hermione.

“How?” the boy asked. “Neither of you look alike.”

“I'm adopted,” Harry stated reluctantly. “My birth parents died when I was younger.”

“Oh, sorry,” the boy said, not sounding at all sympathetic, before asking in a disdainful way, “But, they were _our_ kind, weren't they?”

“They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you're asking,” Harry said through gritted teeth. The boy's comment put Harry on edge. He always hated this sort of talk and it always left him feeling angry that such beliefs even existed.

“Hogwarts shouldn't even let in any other sort,” the boy ranted. “Muggle-borns are practically savages. They haven't been brought up to understand Wizarding culture. They haven't even heard of Hogwarts until someone comes around to tell them. The school needs to keep it in the old families.”

Harry looked at Hermione with a steely gaze. She looked about ready to claw the pale boy to bits. Harry was always glad Hermione often thought the same way he did. More often than not, Hermione was the first to reprimand anyone that spoke as this boy did. This time was no exception.

“Our parents happen to be Muggles,” Hermione said, cutting off the boy from any further comments and leaving him gawking at the two of them as if they insulted his entire family. “I'll ask you kindly to keep whatever vile thoughts you have about it to yourself and leave us to get done what we're here to do.”

The witches handed the siblings their robes with a look that said they respected and, more importantly, agreed with what Hermione said. They paid for their robes without a word. Harry stopped at the door and shot the boy a mean glare before leaving.

Hermione stormed past Hagrid in a huff, Harry following suit. Hagrid caught up to them. “What's the matter?” he asked, genuinely concerned about Hermione's state. “What happened?”

They didn't know if they ought to open up to Hagrid about what the pale boy said, but something about Hagrid told Harry he was a good person to talk to. Harry could tell Hermione thought the same. Now that Harry saw the gamekeeper in broad daylight, he could that there was something oddly familiar about him. Harry couldn't place it, but he was certain that he had seen Hagrid's face somewhere before today.

“Hagrid,” Hermione asked apprehensively, “is there something wrong with being a Muggle-born?”

Hagrid looked at her in shock. “'Course there isn't!” he cried. “Why would you think that?”

“There was a boy in there that said people like me shouldn't allowed into Hogwarts,” she related to Hagrid. Pointing at him as he walked out with an older woman as blond and haughty as he was, she said, “That's him.”

Hagrid looked at the boy as he walked away in the direction of Gringotts. The giant man muttered, “Draco Malfoy. His family's a Dark one. Rotten, the lot of them are.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, worried.

“There are a few wizards around that think you're only a proper wizard if your family is all Magic. Pure-blood, they say they are. Can't really see how. Lot of them are cousins to begin with.”

“Why do they think that?” asked Harry.

“'Cause you close yourself off to good people of any kind, you don't see how stupid something like that is. Blood purity, it's a load of nonsense. Lily was Muggle-born, and she was of the sharpest witches I ever met. One of the best people, too.”

“My mum was Muggle-born?” Harry asked, very surprised.

“Absolutely, she was,” Hagrid said proudly. “Blood ain't got one jot to do with how great a wizard you are. Your dad may have been Pure-blood himself, but he saw that it was all nonsense, and he was always proud of his wife for who she was, not for her blood. You'd never hear one bad word from James about Lily. Nothing but love, those two had for each other.”

Both Harry and Hermione brightened at Hagrid's recounting of the relationship between Harry's birth parents. Hagrid reminisced about all of James's pranks and gushed about every bit of Lily's academic prowess. All memories of the pale boy and his repulsive utterances were swiftly and happily ignored.

Hagrid led the children about the shops, buying their things for the coming year. The cauldron shop wasn't very exciting, though Harry and Hermione didn't really expect it to be. He was, however, fascinated with a solid gold cauldron on display. “Gold's useless for a cauldron anyway—melts too quick on all that heat,” Hagrid told Harry. They stepped out of the cauldron shop when Harry asked, “The boy at Madam Malkin's said something about Quidditch. What is that?”

“It's our sport,” Hagrid explained. “You play it on broomsticks, flying high above the ground. I can't remember many of the rules, but no matter. You'll see it out at Hogwarts soon enough, and you'll love it.”

“Are the YM a club that plays it?” Harry asked, slightly less confused.

“Oh, yeah,” answered Hagrid. “That's one of the nicknames for the Witches' Quidditch Club of Holyhead. Harpies, everyone calls 'em. Every player on that team's a witch, not one man on the squad, and every one of them are some of the best players around. But, you want to go with a really great team, you root for Pride of Port Righ. _A' reannag_ , always leads the way.” Hagrid beat his chest and hooted proudly. The children giggled at Hagrid's display.

They continued their shopping spree through the Alley. Both Harry and Hermione marveled at the telescopes. Astronomy was one of Jean's favourite pastimes, and the family would always make a night of it whenever there was a lunar eclipse or a meteor shower. They were certain their mother would lavish so much attention on these when she saw them. The Apothecary was fascinating, if only for some of the odds and ends, like the unicorn horns and the dragon's blood. Hagrid gushed about Professor Dumbledore finding out all the ways that dragon's blood could be used. “Great man, Dumbledore is,” he said proudly. “Great man, indeed.”

Hagrid led the children out of the Apothecary. They had very nearly gotten everything, even their books. At Flourish and Blotts, the children could see that their parents were deep in discussion with McGonagall at one corner of the shop. Harry thought he should go to them to show them everything they had bought. Hagrid, however, knew what was happening and guided the children to buying their textbooks. Hermione ecstatically got herself a book about Hogwarts, eager to see what the school would hold in store for them. Hagrid then led them back to the Alley.

“One last thing for you to get is your wand,” Hagrid said. “Most important thing for witches and wizards. Can't do magic without it.”

The gamekeeper led Harry and Hermione to a shop. The sign above the door read: “Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.” As Harry and Hermione were about to go inside, they looked back to see Hagrid standing nervously a ways away from the shop.

“You two can go into Ollivander's by yourselves,” Hagrid said, slightly unnerved by his presence near this particular shop. “I'll stay out here.”

“Why don't you come in with us?” Harry suggested. “We wouldn't mind. We're getting to liking your company.”

“I appreciate that, Harry. Really, I truly do. It's just that...Ollivander ain't gonna be too keen on seeing me.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked.

“Well, he don't take too kindly to anyone that got a wand of his snapped in half.”

“How did you manage that?” Harry asked, surprised.

“I got expelled in my third year,” Hagrid admitted glumly. “Ain't been allowed to hold another one since.”

This news worried the pair of Granger children. Hagrid noticed their unease, and quickly tried to put a stop to it. “Hey, don't neither of you worry. You haven't even been to Hogwarts yet. Both of you are going to be great students there. Now, go on. Go get your wands.”

Hagrid ushered them into the shop, smiling as best he could, given his reminiscence, and quickly stepped away.

Harry and Hermione looked around the shop, which was only sparsely furnished with a full-length mirror, foot stool, a small spindly-legged coffee table, and a threadbare wingback chair. A counter separated the lobby of the shop from the back, which was lined with shelves upon shelves of long slender boxes. On the counter, a small bell sat beside a large old cash register. Hermione walked up to the counter and rang the bell. Just as soon as she did, a man on a rolling ladder rolled into view, startling both children. The man on the ladder quickly stepped down and turned, looking very pleased to meet his new customers. He was tall and slender with wispy silver hair, pale blue eyes and a kind smile.

“Good afternoon,” the man said most cordially. “I am Garrick Ollivander, owner and proprietor of Ollivander's Fine Wands. How do you do?”

Hermione quickly took the shopkeeper's hand and shook it firmly but uneasily. “Hello. We'd like to purchase wands for ourselves, please.”

“Of course,” Ollivander answered eagerly. “First-years, I take it?”

“Yes, my brother and I will be starting at Hogwarts this year,” said Hermione proudly. Looking back to Harry, Mr Ollivander's eyes fell upon him and his face took on an awestruck expression. “Harry Potter...”

The children took on a collective uneasy feeling as Ollivander approached Harry. Ollivander spoke up with great eagerness. “I've been wondering when I'd be seeing you, Mister Potter. I remember when I sold your mother and father their first wands.”

“Really?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“Oh, yes,” Ollivander stated. “When your mother first came here, she got herself a 10-inch wand, willow, rather swishy. Very well-suited for charms work.” Ollivander spoke animatedly, picking up a measuring tape, along with a quill, an ink bottle, and some parchment. “Your father, on the other hand, came away with an 11-inch wand. Mahogany, pliable. Powerful wand, excellent for transfiguration. I must say your father heavily favoured it. But, he, along with so many, didn't understand it is the wand that chooses the wizard.”

Having gathered everything, Ollivander walked back to the children. “Now, Mister Potter, shall we begin?”

“Er...” Harry began uneasily. “Ladies first?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same at Harry's attempted chivalry. Ollivander laughed and brought out the measuring tape. “Very good manners about you, Mister Potter,” Ollivander said. “Well, then, my dear, your name?”

“Hermione,” she said kindly.

“Well, Hermione, please step up onto the foot stool.”

Hermione briskly walked up and stood on the stool, stock straight.

“Now, then, my dear,” Ollivander said, readying a quill with ink, and holding the measuring tape with his other hand, “which is your wand arm?”

Hermione cocked her head slightly, as if she didn't understand the question. Uncertainly, she answered, “Well, I'm right-handed,” and held out her right hand.

“Good,” he answered. Holding up her arm gingerly, Ollivander asked her, “Now, turn it upward and spread your fingers as wide as they will go. That's right.” Hermione did so, and Ollivander began his measurements, starting from the tip of her thumb to the tip of her little finger, moving onto measuring from the tip of the middle finger to the wrist, from wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, shoulder to the tip of her middle finger, shoulder to shoulder, armpit to hip, armpit to knee, hip to her knee, hip to feet, knee to feet, her full height, her shoe size, and finally around her head. All the while, Ollivander's quill was writing down Hermione's measurements by itself, as if it had a mind of its own.

“Very good,” Ollivander finally said. “You can step down now.”

Hermione did so as Mr Ollivander dashed into the back of the shop, the slip of paper in his hands. The tape measure fell to the ground and the quill jumped to rest in the ink bottle. “It seems a wand of ten and three-quarter inches in length will best suit you, Hermione,” Ollivander called out. He began searching the boxes, pulling down three in all. Coming back up to the siblings, he dumped the gathered boxes onto the armchair. “Now, we will see which core will suit you best.”

“Core?” Hermione asked in keen interest.

“Every wand made at Ollivander's has magical wood to comprise its body and a special material to make up its core,” Ollivander explained. “In this shop, we use only the finest unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings, and phoenix feathers. No two wands are alike, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are alike. Or people, for that matter. Thus, a different core better suits a different wand, just as a different wand better suits a different witch or wizard. With young witches and wizards, one type of core resonates with them far better than the other two. As their experiences grows, a witch or wizard can display their gift through any wand they hold, though the best results come from a wand that has allied itself with you. The measurements and the core test help us to better find the wand that may choose you.”

Grabbing one box, Ollivander extracted its wand and swiftly placed it in her hand. “Now, then. Let's begin. This wand is ebony and unicorn hair. A bit springy, but give it a wave.”

Hermione gave a wave of the wand. Several boxes flew off the shelf, clattering to the ground. This left her flustered and most apologetic. “I'm so, so sorry,” she began before Ollivander.

“That happens more often than you might think,” said the wandmaker reassuringly, taking the wand back and setting it back in its box. “Interesting reaction from the unicorn hair, but let's see what the other cores show us.”

Turning back to Hermione, he handed her a new wand.

“Here we have hazel and phoenix feather, go ahead and try it.”

Hermione gave the wand a wave and the footstool did a little somersault and flip in the air, landing back on its four feet.

Ollivander took the wand back. “It may not be phoenix feather,” he said joyously. He put that wand back. “Let's see how dragon heartstring treats you.”

He bent down and took another out of its box.

“Now, here,” he said. “This wand is dragon heartstring and vine. A very fine wand, it matches your measurements as well. Have a try.”

Hermione took hold of the wand, and let out a shuddering breath. “It...It feels warm,” she said with great surprise.

“Remarkable,” whispered Ollivander. “Give it a wave.”

Hermione did so, and a shower of green, orange, and blue sparks shot out, which left Ollivander practically dumbstruck.

“That is the wand for you, my dear,” Ollivander said, regaining his bearings, but sounding slightly disappointed. “Dear me, it's been quite a while since I've properly fitted someone during a core test.”

Hermione let out a shout of triumph and excitedly rushed over to her brother to show him her new wand. Harry took it and looked it over with honest fascination. A cough turned their heads as they saw Ollivander waiting patiently for something. Harry realised he still needed his own wand.

Ollivander gestured to Harry, calling him over to the foot stool. “Now, then, Mister Potter, shall we?”

Harry handed his sister her new wand back and tentatively stepped onto the stool and turn around to face Mr Ollivander, who brought the measuring tape down into his hands. “Which is your wand arm?”

Harry held out his right hand. “Very good. Now, turn it palm up like your sister and spread your fingers.”

Harry did as Mr Ollivander asked, and the wandmaker proceeded to take measurements as he had for Hermione. Finally finishing, Ollivander dashed off, absent-mindedly leaving the measuring tape to take more measurements, such as Harry's waist, inseam and from nostril to nostril before it wrapped itself around Harry's head like a turban, while the quill made doodles of Harry and Hermione on a separate piece of parchment.

“Eleven inches will do the trick for you, Mister Potter, just as it did for your father,” Ollivander said, bustling about the back of the shop. Pulling three boxes off the shelves, Ollivander dashed back. He snapped his fingers and the tape measure fell into a heap at Harry's feet and the quill jumped back into its bottle. Setting three new boxes on the armchair, he opened one and pulled out Harry's first test wand.

“Beech and dragon heartstring, a nice, flexible wand. Have a go...”

Harry took the wand and gave it a wave. Midway through it, the umbrella stand shot a great column of fire up toward the ceiling. Ollivander quickly waved his wand, quelling the eruption, and snatched the wand out of Harry's hand almost at the same time. “Not dragon heartstring, I think,” said the wandmaker in a detached manner.

Stowing the wand back in its box, he took out another and handed it to Harry. “Let's try unicorn hair. This is a willow wand, rather like your mother's, I think. Try it, if you please.”

Harry took it and waved it. Nothing happened. He waved it thrice more. Again, nothing happened. Ollivander quickly took away the wand.

“Most likely not unicorn hair,” he said, adding with great relish, “Which leaves...the phoenix.”

Ollivander took out another wand and handed it to Harry.

“Here we are. Maple and phoenix feather, quite whippy. Try it out.”

Harry waved the wand and the shop's window shattered. Ollivander snatched the wand from Harry with one hand while waving his own wand at the window. The glass flew back into place to form the panes they had been before. Harry looked upon the act he caused in surprise, but Ollivander looked delighted.

“Definitely phoenix feather,” said the wandmaker, triumphant, taking the wand from Harry. “Just not this one.”

The wandmaker bustled about the back of his shop, muttering the names of several types of wood under his breath, pulling all manners of boxes off the shelves and stepping over the mess Hermione accidentally made. When he came back, he had Harry trying all manners of wands: elm, oak, sycamore, cherry... Ash, rowan, chestnut, apple, pear... Fir, pine, spruce... None of them had chosen Harry. Ollivander was certain that the cypress wand he had brought out would choose him, but that was not the case. Still, the wandmaker was engrossed in his testing Harry, though Harry and Hermione were feeling rather put off by the prolonged session. The mahogany and willow wands were not for Harry, either, which left no other wand for Harry to try. At least, no other wand that Ollivander brought forth for him. The wandmaker dashed back to his wares and pulled down several more wands. He was about to walk back to his customers, but he stopped at one shelf, gazing upon it with a foreboding and almost reverent expression.

“Oh, my... I almost forgot about you...” The wandmaker's voice trailed off. He let his previous selections clatter to the floor as he reached up and took down a long slender black box. “It does match his measurements, core most definitely does as well... I wonder...”

Harry watched as Ollivander came up to him with the oddest determination in his eyes. He opened the box and withdrew a new wand.

“This wand is made from a holly tree, phoenix feather contained within. Eleven inches in length, it matches your measurements as I have taken them. One of my more unusual combinations, but the wand itself is nice and supple. Try this one out next...”

Harry took the wand in his hand. A warmth unlike any he'd ever felt washed over him. He let out a shuddering breath. Ollivander said, “Give it a wave...”

Harry did just that, and released a shower of fiery red and shimmering gold sparks from the wand's tip.

“Well done,” cried Ollivander. “Well done.”

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and muttered, “Thank goodness.”

Ollivander took both their wands and wrapped them in brown paper and twine, murmuring to himself as he wrapped Harry's wand, “Curious, how very curious...”

The wandmaker charged them both seven Galleons for their wands. Hermione left, feeling very proud of herself. Harry, however, was rather put off by Ollivander's mutterings. He came back up to the counter. He asked, “Mister Ollivander?”

Ollivander looked up in surprise. Harry continued, “I'm sorry, but what was so curious about me having this wand?”

Ollivander looked upon Harry with solemnity. With that, he said to Harry, “As a wandmaker, I remember every wand I've sold, Mister Potter. Every single wand, and yours is a very fascinating one. The phoenix who provided your wand with its core gave another feather. Just one other. I find it curious that this wand would choose you when its brother marked you with that scar.”

Harry automatically raised his hand to his scar in fright.

“Yes. Thirteen and a half inches, made of yew. Mister Potter, if I had ever known what he would become, I would never have let him buy it, let alone lay eyes on one.”

Despite his previous regret, Ollivander spoke again with an uneasy sort of pride. “However, such matters are not mine to dictate. As I have said before, it is the wand that chooses the wizard. It has never been clear why this is so. What is clear, though, is that we can expect great things from you, Mister Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things as well. Terrible things, yes...but nonetheless great.”

Harry left the wand shop in a daze, not focusing on where he was going, but entirely aware of his surroundings. He knew his parents would be at the book shop, so he made his way there. He saw Hagrid standing outside the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop, looking at goggles on a clearance rack. Hermione stood nearby, gazing quizzically at a display of action figures of supposedly famous professional Quidditch players. Despite his best efforts, Hagrid couldn't get a pair to fit around his head. A hassled-looking attendant came up to him, enchanted the goggles to fit and Hagrid looked most pleased with his selection. As he turned around and paid the attendant, Harry saw the giant man wearing the goggles and he froze. His mouth went dry and fell agape, he felt a chill wash over him, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Hagrid's appearance. He recognised Hagrid now as the man from his dream about the flying motorcycle.

Hagrid took notice of Harry, as did Hermione. Hermione came over to her brother, worried about his expression.

“Harry, what's the matter?” Hermione asked him, but Harry's attention was focused entirely on Hagrid.

“You,” Harry finally said to Hagrid. “You carried me on a flying motorcycle. 'Just a little farther, Harry. You'll be safe and sound in no time.'”

Hagrid's mouth fell agape as he took off the goggles, looking at Harry in wonder. Laurence and Jean had come back from the bookshop. They heard their son's remark and looked upon the scene in confusion.

“You remember that?” said Hagrid breathlessly.

“Harry, what are you talking about?” Jean asked, her worry growing.

Laurence looked to Hagrid and asked, “What is my son talking about?”

Hagrid looked unsurely at his feet, then back up to Laurence.

“I brought Harry to your door, sir,” he said sadly.

The Granger family looked upon Hagrid in shock.

“If you let me buy you dinner at the Cauldron, I'll explain everything,” Hagrid asked the family. “Please.”

The family nodded their consent. Hagrid led them back to the pub. Harry could feel himself growing tense at what the gamekeeper could end up telling them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: For me, this was entirely about making everything noticeably different but still keeping it familiar. I didn't want to entirely rehash everything from the books, but I still didn't want to stray too far from it all either. I tried doing a new poem for the Gringotts doors because I know I'll have to do something new for the Sorting Hat when the time comes. No doubt you all have noticed I gave all the Quidditch clubs in this treatment names more resembling European club names. One of the nicknames I gave Pride of Portree may not be grammatically correct, as I'm not fluent, or even remotely familiar, with Scottish Gaelic; so, if you speak it, please tell me if I need to change it.
> 
> AN2: In regards to the amount in Harry's vault, I never felt comfortable just hearing Harry had a lot of money in his vault. I always wanted to hear a set amount or something, so I made an attempt to give the Harry in my treatment just that. I originally did the math in pounds, then converted those figures to Galleons with Rowling's statement that 1 Galleon was about 5 pounds. The £5.12=1G conversion rate came from her introduction to "Quidditch Through the Ages" - wherein she stated that £174million ~ 34million G - and was applied only to the end result of Griphook's explanation.
> 
> AN3: The wand fitting that I concocted for this is far different from what Rowling put forward in PS, but I wanted something that was much more deliberate rather than the willy-nilly method Ollivander had in that chapter. I felt that if he were taking measurements for someone, then that needed to serve an actual purpose. So, I decided to make it a way to find the proper length for a witch's or wizard's wand. The idea of testing cores has no basis in the Potter canon. It was just an offshoot of thinking up the measurement aspect of finding the right length wand. Typically, what he looks for is a sort of middle ground, where the young wizard does magic that isn't entirely weak, but not entirely destructive either. While that wasn't really the case with Harry's testing, it was as close as Ollivander could get given the results. This might take away from the wandlore aspect of everything, but it just felt right to me.
> 
> Anyhoo, that's all I have to say for now (man, that was long-winded). Please read and review. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to update sooner.


	6. The Fate of the Potters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
> 
> AN: So, here is Chapter 6. I had meant to upload this chapter yesterday, given that it was Rowling's birthday (and Harry's, but Rowling is the more important of the two, really). But, life, along with the people within it, happened to take place while I was working on this, and my desire to update was quickly offset by it (isn't that always the case?). Regardless, I present to you Chapter 6 of this story. It's not as long as I had wanted it to be, but I still feel it is a solid chapter in of itself.

Chapter Six  
**The Fate of the Potters**

 

 

McGonagall had long since left Diagon Alley, leaving the Grangers to their own devices, but not before giving her thanks to Laurence and Jean for finally agreeing to let Harry and Hermione attend the school. After she had explained to Laurence and Jean the circumstances that brought Harry to their family, she stated that her duties required her to return to the school grounds immediately. She added that Hagrid could answer any further questions they had about the rest of the Magical World, before she swiftly left the bookshop and the Alley.

Here now, the family sat at a table within the Leaky Cauldron. Hagrid sat nervously at one side of the table while the entire Granger family took up the other side, Harry and Hermione to Hagrid's left, the parents to his right. Each member of the family was as nervous as the gamekeeper.

Hagrid held in both hands a tankard of stout, gazing deeply into it. All four Grangers looked upon him anxiously, awaiting him to begin his tale. Hagrid took a long draught of his beer. When he set it down, the tankard was empty.

“Where should I start?” he finally said.

“You said you brought Harry to our home,” Jean said simply.

With a sigh, Hagrid admitted, “To be honest, it weren't just me. There was me, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall.”

“McGonagall?” Hermione shouted.

“She said nothing to us about that,” cried Harry indignantly.

“She explained it to us,” stated Jean, calming her children. “In the bookshop, she told us that she and Professor Dumbledore brought you to us, Harry.”

“She had mentioned you,” Laurence said to Hagrid. “Just not very strongly.”

“Yeah. That night, she was worried I might hurt Harry,” Hagrid said, gesturing to Harry, stressing, “ _Accidentally_ hurt you. She always knew I was a kind bloke, though I do have a tendency to be a bit rough when I don't intend to be. But, like I said, I'd never do anything harm a hair on Harry's head.”

“Dumbledore trusted Harry to you,” Jean said. “How could you protect him? The professor told us you aren't allowed a wand.”

“I may not be allowed a wand, but I can still hold my own against any witch or wizard all the same,” Hagrid explained. “Anyway, Dumbledore followed you back home,” nodding to Laurence, “and watched you lot being a family. When he was satisfied with who you were, he sent McGonagall to make sure your home was safe, keep watch so that no one tried anything. Not that he thought anybody would come after you, but you couldn't be too careful back then. Once she decided the coast was clear, she sent word to me and Dumbledore. We all met at your home, set Harry at your door, and Dumbledore stuck around to make sure you took him in all right.”

The last part of Hagrid's statement fell uneasily upon the Granger family. He watched them take in Harry, and he said nothing to them. They didn't even see him anywhere around their house.

“He didn't—did he use Magic on us to—” Laurence began, before stopping to choose a better way of putting it.

Hagrid understood what Laurence was getting at and was quick to assuage Laurence's worries. “Dumbledore wouldn't do nothing of the sort. The Charms wouldn't have took hold if he did that.”

“What Charms?” Jean asked, panicked at this fact.

Hagrid stammered a bit.

“Hagrid,” Laurence sternly said, just as panicked as Jean. “What sort of spells did Dumbledore cast on our home?”

The gamekeeper gulped before he explained, “Dumbledore put Charms all about your home to protect Harry, and all of you as well.”

“Charms to protect us from what?” Laurence asked.

“From whoever killed my parents?” asked Harry. The question caught everyone by surprise, Hagrid more so than anyone else.

Mouth gaping in astonishment, Hagrid asked him, “Where did you hear that?”

Harry nervously explained, “I...Ollivander...after I got my wand...he told me he sold a wand to another man... and that wand...” Harry swallowed and, pointing a finger at his scar, finished explaining, “...did this.”

Laurence sighed, “Oh.”

“I think that...if he did that to me, then...he must have had something to do with them...dying.”

A sorrowful silence fell over the table.

“Aye,” said Hagrid sadly. “He did.”

“Is that what McGonagall told you?” Harry asked his parents.

Laurence and Jean nodded sadly to their son. Laurence reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a new leather-bound book, a title embossed on the front cover in a sort of faded gold leaf, _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. He handed the book to his son, saying, “Seeing all those people react to you being in the Leaky Cauldron got me thinking that you were important to them, really important. We didn't understand how much until we saw it in there.”

Harry began flipping trough the book's pages to find the tale, before his mother said to him, “They only wrote a generalisation about it all. It only says how it affected the Magical World.”

“There's nothing about the man who did it,” added Laurence.

“You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who would write about him,” Hagrid said.

“Who was he?” asked Laurence. “McGonagall wouldn't say anything about him either. All she said was that they were killed by a man. Why is that such a Great Wizarding Event?”

Harry could see that Hagrid was just as nervous about talking about all this as McGonagall was. The gamekeeper began, “The thing you need to understand is...not all wizards are good.”

“I work in law enforcement, Mr Hagrid,” Laurence stated plainly. “I know all about bad people.”

“You don't know bad people like wizards do,” Hagrid intoned. “Especially not like him. He was the worst. No,” he quickly corrected himself. “He was worse than the worst.”

“What was his name?” asked Hermione.

“We don't say his name,” Hagrid answered with a great deal of foreboding. “Not even if we have to. Scares the lot of us to our very souls if someone says it aloud.”

“Can you write it down?”

Hagrid seemed reluctant to do so, but agreed to her request all the same. “Just need to remember how to spell it,” Hagrid said. He took a pencil and paper from Laurence. He looked to the ceiling in deep thought, as if he were remembering some difficult math problem. He began scribbling something on the paper, trembling at the very end, almost as if some force were keeping him from finishing. Fortunately, he did finish writing the name. He turned the paper over and slid it to the family, warning, “Just don't say it aloud.”

Jean took the paper. In a very untidy scrawl was written a single name: **LORD VOLDEMORT**. Undeterred by Hagrid's warning, she said the name aloud.

Hagrid flinched and let out a frightened whimper, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. He opened one slightly, looking about the room panicked. He returned to normal when he saw that nothing followed Jean's utterance, letting out a sigh of relief.

“It's that bad?” Laurence asked incredulously.

“Like I said,” Hagrid answered, waving his tankard to Tom, who quickly filled another. “He was worse than the worst. Most wizards, they call him either You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The first one's simpler. We never call him by...that name. That's the sort of fear he put in us.”

After Tom brought the new beer to Hagrid and left, Hagrid restarted the story. “See, about twenty years back, he started up all sorts of trouble. He'd been about several years before, but it weren't until he started looking for followers, anyone that'd hear what he had to say about the Wizard's true place in the world, that the real trouble began.

“He got his followers and then trouble wasn't too far behind. Those people that went over to his side, all of them were afraid of him, but he cowed them to his every whim right away—some because he bewitched them; others 'cause they wanted a bit of his power; the rest went by their own free will because they were so twisted and bent that they didn't give a damn what they did or who they hurt or killed.

“When James and Lily left Hogwarts, the War of the Wizards started. The worst of it did, anyway. They married each other almost the very moment they left the school. They didn't know when they'd get another chance, or even if they would. The war lasted about four more years and saw too many lives lost. You-Know-Who led all the bad ones, everyone that wanted the wizards to rule everyone and everything. We had Dumbledore and the Ministry on our side. Dumbledore, I reckon he was the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. Everyone says so, anyway.

“You-Know-Who went about terrorising all of Britain, Magical and Muggle, gaining more and more power year by year. James and Lily were quick to join Dumbledore's side. After his parents died, James came into a lot of money. He nearly bankrupted himself buying those safe houses for our side and helping any Muggle-born witch or wizard that wanted or, more likely than not, needed to hide or leave the country.

Upon seeing the shocked looks on the Grangers' faces, Hagrid explained, albeit reluctantly, “See, You-Know-Who wasn't just about putting the wizards in charge of everything—he also wanted to make them all Pure-blood. No Muggle-borns could exist in his 'perfect world'. He'd only put up with half-bloods, but just barely. So many Muggle-borns died in those days, and they damn well shouldn't have. James even tried to get Lily out of the country once, but she put her foot down and told him she was staying and fighting. She was one of the best fighters on our side. Even James said so himself.

“But, when she found out she was gonna have you, Harry, she stepped aside, let everyone else do the fightin'. She didn't wanna lay her life on the line like that, not when she had a child to look after.

“Soon, you were born, Harry, and your dad...that just gave your dad a greater incentive to fight for Lily and you and everyone who just wanted a good life.

“Rumour has it You-Know-Who himself tried to sway James to his lot. James wasn't about to side with some monster that wanted to kill his wife and everyone like her. He turned that slimy git down flat and barely got away with his life.

“Anyone tried to stand up to him to his face, he killed them, and horribly at that. The McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts—all of them fell when he faced them. But not James. Seems like that got under his skin like nothing else.

Hagrid took another drink and continued, “It was about ten years ago when the war was winding down. You-Know-Who had the upper hand, but for some reason, he was still after James. No one knew why. We still don't. Then, one night, he tracked them down. The dead of night, on Halloween, he found them out in Godric's Hollow. And he...” Hagrid choked up, began sobbing into his new beer, before he resumed the story, blubbering, “He killed 'em. Killed James and Lily right in their very home...”

Harry could feel himself becoming sick. His eyes began to water. To Harry, he continued, “He was about to strike you down, maybe to make a clean job of it, maybe because he liked killin' so much by that time, I don't know, no one does. But, he cast a curse at you. It did hit you, but it flew back at him. You ever wonder how you got that scar?”

“We always thought I got it in a car crash,” Harry said meekly, holding his hand to his scar.

“Car crash? Nah, no car crash makes a scar like that. Mark like that comes a curse, and a terrible one at that. The one he cast at you as a baby... The force of it when it went back at him, it nearly destroyed the entire house, but you survived it. You survived it striking you and the force it released hitting him. You survived his fury when so many died at his hands. That's why you're famous, Harry. That's why everyone in the Magical World knows your name. You're the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry felt sick. He felt like the entire world was closing in on him. Had Hermione not been holding his hand, he'd have tried to run for the bathroom or out into Muggle London, away from all of this. All this reverence and these long overdue revelations. All of it felt stifling, like the entire world was falling on top of him.

Jean asked Hagrid, “What happened to...him? To...You-Know Who?”

Hagrid sighed, “A lot of folks think he died after the attack. That's nothing but codswallop. Doubt there was enough human left in 'im to die properly. People like Dumbledore say he's in hiding somewhere. I believe him. You-Know-Who ain't dead, but he's out there, weaker that he ever was, biding his time and looking for a way to come back to life.”

Hagrid drank his second beer entirely, before he continued. “We figure you had been in the house all alone for about an hour, Harry, before help came. I found you in the wreckage, bundled you up, took you out of there and borrowed a motorcycle—the flying one, you remember—from a friend of theirs and flew out of there as fast as the bike could take us. We hid in home after home, not staying anywhere too long, not telling anyone where we'd be hiding next.

“I only heard bits and pieces about the aftermath of the attack. From what I heard, that day was chaos. Pandemonium all over the country. No one really knew what was happening. The good side got wind of the attack, heard that You-Know-Who was done for, got angry that that bastard would do something so horrible as try to kill a child. They went on the offensive, rounding up all the followers that were still around, who didn't know what was happening, trying to figure out if what they heard about their master was true. A few of them got away, convinced everyone that they got bewitched to do bad things on his orders. Most of them died fighting, but the rest got locked up and they ain't getting out any time soon.

“The last place we hid was a home outside a village near the River Otter. That was when the fireworks lit up the sky. When that happened, we knew—everyone knew—the fighting was done. The war was over. We were safe. Harry was safe. Shortly after the sky went back to normal, Dumbledore sent word. He told us he'd found Harry a good home, and that I was to bring you there right away...

“I guess you know the rest of the story now,” Hagrid concluded uneasily.

No one knew how to respond. Everything they just heard, everything Hagrid had told them, seemed too strange, too surreal, to be true. The story of James and Lily Potter's demise, how he truly got his scar. That there had been a war within their country, and that they heard nothing about it. That Harry was a symbol of hope and triumph for the Magical Community was the most unbelievable thing to ever fall upon their ears in all their lifetimes.

“May I be excused, please?” asked Harry, almost in a whisper that sounded so pained and heart-rending. Hermione quickly moved aside and Harry made his way to the pub's men's room. He needed to get away from all this: from the revelations that turned everything he knew upside down, from the cold hard facts of the murder of his birth parents, from what everyone in this newly-revealed world truly thought of him.

Harry shoved open the door to the men's room and braced himself at the sink. He looked into the drain as if the drain itself were responsible for his parents' death. He closed his eyes, struggling to regain his thoughts. He felt a memory rising up from the depths of his mind. The green light rushed forward, but before that, there came a high, cold, cruel laugh. He felt himself growing cold and sick at the thought of that laugh and of the echoes it left behind as it resonated through his mind. He splashed his face with water and took several deep breaths. Wiping his face, he opened the door. Standing outside was Hermione, looking upon him sadly, nervously, but more concerned than anything else.

“I'm fine, 'Mione,” said Harry glumly, making his way past her.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his place. “No, you're not,” she said to him gently. “Who could be after hearing that?”

Harry did everything to stay strong in front of his sister. He didn't want to let her see him like this. He didn't want to cry. But, no matter what he tried to tell himself, no matter how he willed himself to remain stoic and show no sign that everything was getting to him, he could not keep all the pent-up rage and sadness he felt at his birth parents' deaths from staying hidden. Soon, the dam burst and Harry began sobbing uncontrollably. Hermione was quick to come up to Harry and take her brother into a strong embrace, letting him bury his face into her shoulder.

“It's not fair,” Harry sobbed, his words muffled as he buried his face into Hermione's shoulder.

“No, it's not,” his sister agreed.

“I don't remember anything about it. Why have I got to be famous for it? Why do I have to be famous for them dying?”

“The _idea_ of you is famous, Harry,” Hermione opined, holding him at arm's length and looking him square in the eye. Her eyes were just as filled with tears as his, though she had yet to shed any. “Everyone here, they have this image of you built up in their heads and they want so badly for it to be true. You're just some figment to them, not a real person of flesh and blood. You can show them that there's more than just your name and your story. And don't you ever think that you're responsible for what happened to them. It was his fault. It will always be his fault.”

Harry looked away. “Come on,” she said consolingly. “Everything will be all right. You've got so many people that care about you. Mum, Dad, and me. You are not going to deal with this alone. We are with you every step of the way. Now and always.”

Harry smiled sadly at his sister's assurance. He looked upon his sister with a kind of deep respect. He once more saw in her his sister, the one person who had been, by and large, his very best friend. But, in this gaze, he saw a sort of uneasiness, as if something more than what they just heard had bothered her.

“Harry,” she said, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I'm sorry about what happened at the zoo. I should have done something more to get you out of trouble.”

“It's all right,” Harry replied. He took a step toward the pub. She took hold of his wrist, and pulled him back to face her.

“No, it's not all right,” she rebuked. “I lost my temper and you got blamed for it. In what way is that all right?”

“You didn't have any control over it. You're not to blame.”

“You're still angry about it, though.” Hermione had hit the nail on the head, and Harry knew it. As much as he wanted to repeat everything he had already said, some small part of him still fumed about having been the scapegoat for Hermione's accidental magic. As much as he wanted to rail against her for it, he also needed to hear her say why she'd done it.

“What were you thinking?” he asked her. “When you made the glass disappear, what were you thinking about when you did it?”

She looked down and honestly said, “I saw him hit you, and when I looked up at him again, I just thought, 'I wish that horrible boy were trapped in this zoo instead of that snake.' Next thing I knew, he was.”

Harry looked at her, bemused at her admission and surprised at her rather vindictive motivation. Soon, though, he began laughing. It rose from his belly and shortly thereafter, he doubled over. Hermione was shocked at her brother's reaction, expecting him to storm off, not to laugh uncontrollably.

“You got your wish, then,” said Harry, gasping through his laughter.

“Harry, it's not funny,” Hermione admonished her brother.

“It is a little funny.”

“I set a giant snake loose and trapped a boy in its place.”

“And you stood up for your brother.”

Hermione was about to make a retort, but quickly put a stop to it. The look on Harry's face, a near-perfect blend of cheek and admiration (though his eyes, still fresh with sorrow, betrayed the look he gave her), kept her from saying any more against her actions. Her mouth curled slightly into a smile, a proud smile. Harry took her into a hug this time around and thanked her.

Hermione led him back to the family. Laurence and Jean watched their children return, worried at their son's potential state, but more perplexed at their children's collectively jovial mood. They soon found themselves happy to see that Harry wasn't too bothered and that Hermione helped significantly to calm him down and bring him back to his normal self. Satisfied with how Harry was, Hagrid went about ordering everyone a plate of cottage pie, as well as a glass of wine for Jean (Laurence passed on having a stout, as he would need to drive everyone back home).

Throughout dinner, Hagrid spoke of fonder thoughts on Hogwarts. His tales enthralled the family, especially Harry and Hermione, though it worried Laurence and Jean to find out the school's Black Lake contained a Giant Squid. “He's a pushover,” said Hagrid with a chuckle. “All the big beasts are just softies. I know. I'm one of 'em.”

The dinner went pleasantly enough. Laurence and Jean explained their lives and their professions to Hagrid. This left him looking like someone that had just been explained string theory when they had only asked the answer to 2 + 2. Despite that initial confusion, Hagrid took on very kindly to the Granger parents and showed a great deal of respect to their professions.

Hagrid went about ordering trifles for both children. As they feasted, it appeared to Hagrid that something was nagging at Laurence.

“What's bothering you, Laurence?” the gamekeeper asked the detective.

“Just remembering something you said,” mused Laurence. “You said that James almost bankrupted himself in this war. I don't mean to sound greedy, but...does that mean the rest of Harry's inheritance isn't all that much?”

Hagrid explained. “Well, yes and no. James went through a bit of a change just before the war began. It was the damnedest thing. Pardon my language,” he stopped to apologise, before resuming, “James was always a kind kid. He were an only child and his parents had him late in their lives. The way he told it, they always spoiled him rotten. Well, _almost_ always spoiled him rotten, I should say. They died just before his seventh year, before the real fighting started. That shook him hard. He musta started thinking they spent too much on him. He started sayin' a man ought not to have more money than he needed to live well. He decided he needed to do somethin' better with all his gold.

“So, like I told you, he went about buying safe houses and smugglin' the Muggle-borns out of Britain to safety. A few investments he made did pay off, but he quickly put the profits toward helping the war effort.

Hagrid explained further. “A lot of the Muggle-borns he helped get out of the country didn't want to take his money, not without promising they would repay him. James wouldn't hear of it, though. He told them every single of 'em they weren't beholden to him, they weren't in his debt. All they needed to do was to survive, and have good lives after they got away. When they came back to Britain and found out he and Lily had been killed, several of them talked the goblins into letting them return the money he lent 'em to his accounts, so as to honour James and his family for helping them.”

“They recouped his entire fortune?” Jean asked, astonished.

“It made the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Hagrid said, adding, just as to clarify, “Wizarding Britain's biggest newspaper. Yeah, when word got out that one of the Muggle-borns had done that, others followed suit. Pretty soon, everyone he helped repaid the money he used to help them, mostly as a way to thank him, but more as a way to see that Harry would be taken care of.”

Once Harry and Hermione finished their desserts, the time came for the Granger family to head home. Laurence and Jean thanked Hagrid for dinner, and Hermione thanked him for helping her and Harry with their shopping. Harry came up last and hugged Hagrid as best he could, given that his arms weren't nearly long enough to wrap themselves around the gamekeeper.

“It was good to see you again, Harry,” said the gamekeeper fondly.

“Hagrid,” Harry said sadly. “Thank you for today, and for before.”

“Think nothing of it, lad,” Hagrid said. “I'll see you at the school. You enjoy the rest of your holidays.” The family filed into the car and drove back to Greenwich, Hagrid waving goodbye as their car drove out of sight. Harry watched out the back windscreen as the giant man went back into the pub, most likely to get another round before heading back to the school.

*****HPG*****

When the Grangers got back home, Laurence and Jean marveled at everything the kids got for their new school term. Just as Harry and Hermione suspected, Jean was especially awestruck by their new telescopes and quickly suggested they take a trip to get a glimpse of Saturn and Jupiter before they had to start their term. Laurence perused the spellbooks that the children got, as well as his copy of Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, amazed at how the drawings and photographs moved on their own.

The presents his family had got him before the day's trip into Diagon Alley were impressive. To be frank, they did pale in comparison. The latest video game console seemed—at least, it did to Hermione—to be less impressive than a book with pictures that moved all by themselves. All the same, Harry was most eager to get a crack at beating the first level by noon tomorrow.

Before Harry even got a chance to start, though, the time came for Harry and Hermione to go to bed. The children went up to bed. Harry lay in bed, going over and over in his head the day's events. A knock came at his door that shook him from his ruminations.

“Harry? Can I come in?” he heard his mother call.

“Yeah, Mum,” Harry answered.

Jean came in and sat on the side of his bed. She smiled down on him, her brown eyes seeming rather misty.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said.

“I'm sorry this birthday wasn't what you expected,” Jean said apologetically.

“It's okay, Mum,” Harry said. “I don't think any of us were expecting anything like this to happen today.”

“Your father probably did,” his mother said wryly. Both mother and son laughed slightly.

“I never thought I'd hear something like this about my parents.”

“Neither did I.”

“I miss them,” Harry said, letting his guard down a little more. “I didn't even know them. I barely remember them. But, I miss them.”

“I know you do, darling,” Jean replied, brushing back some of her son's hair. “In a better time, they would still be alive. They would have been the ones that had been blessed to raise you. I'm more than certain that they loved you and the last thing they wanted was to be taken from you. To lose every opportunity to see you grow up and not be a part of it. The best you can do now is to live a good life, a happy life, like they wanted you to have.”

Harry quickly sat up and hugged his mother tightly, which she returned to him in kind.

“Do you think they'd be proud of me?” Harry said.

“I do, absolutely,” Jean replied. “Who wouldn't be? You don't give yourself enough credit sometimes. You and your sister.”

With a slight chuckle, she added, “Not to sound rude, considering what I just said, but I am very happy that your father and I are the ones who got to raise you and watch you grow up.”

“So am I,” Harry said to her honestly. Jean gave him a kiss on his temple and tucked him in as he nestled under the covers.

“Now, get some good sleep,” Jean said happily. “It would be the perfect way to end the day.”

“Mum,” Harry called to his mother, stopping her at the threshold to his room. “Would you check on Hermione before she goes to bed? I'm worried she still thinks I'm angry about what happened at the zoo.”

“Are you?” Jean asked.

“I am, but only a little,” Harry replied. “I just don't want her to feel sorry about it any more.”

“Of course I'll make certain she's all right, Harry.”

“Thank you.” Jean was about to close the door, before Harry stopped her again, calling, “Mum?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you.”

“And I love you, Harry. Good night,” Jean told him fondly.

With that, she turned off the light and closed the door. Harry lay awake for several more minutes before he drifted off into a peaceful slumber, free of any nightmares, but full of thoughts about what would happen in the term to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Some thoughts on James... While there is nothing in canon to support anything that I wrote of James doing here (at least I don't think there is), the idea of him doing all this felt truer to me than anything I had read of him in the past, and of the Potters' wealth in general (though the idea of the people he helped repaying him after his death appealed to me too much to leave it out). I felt like this sort of motivation reflected more on his character than just being a roguish freedom fighter.
> 
> So, thank you for reading. Please read and review, and I will see you later.


	7. The Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Seven  
**The Hogwarts Express**

 

The day after the family's visit to Diagon Alley, a delivery came for Harry. Sitting on his desk in his room, when he woke up that morning, was a beautiful snowy owl, white with little black specks and bright yellow eyes, perched atop a gleaming gilded cage. Somehow, it got the window to his room open and came inside with its cage. As Harry stood up, the owl flew on his shoulder and began nibbling affectionately at his ear. Harry giggled slightly and scratched at the back of the owl's neck as he took notice of a note fastened to the cage. Harry quickly saw the untidy scrawl of Hagrid on the note.

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I was very happy to see you yesterday. It occurred to me shortly after you and your family left the Cauldron (a lot later than it should have—sorry about that) that yesterday was also your birthday. So, I figured that I needed to get you a present. No doubt you'll recognise that this is an owl. Owls are very good for any witch or wizard to have. They make for damn loyal pets and are bloody useful to boot. Wizards use them to deliver their post. So, this way, not only will you have a good pet, you'll also have a great way for your parents to keep in touch with you and Hermione._

_I ain't named her yet. Figured I'd leave that honour to you._

_See you at Hogwarts soon enough. I look forward to it._

_Yours, Hagrid._

_P.S.: Dumbledore told me that since I'd be sending my present to you, it'd be convenient to send your tickets for the Hogwarts Express with it as well. Keep hold of these and make certain you stick to what it says. Do that and you'll be at Hogwarts in no time._

_I'll see you there._

 

Harry looked over at the owl. Its talons dug into his shoulder, but not strongly as it would for a smaller animal, only enough to have a purchase and not be shaken off. He soon realised he needed to tell his parents that he had been a new pet for his birthday by a man that was something of a stranger still to the family. He opened the door to the hall. The owl flew down to the ground floor, where it let out a cry, which was followed very promptly by screams from the rest of his family.

Harry ran downstairs to see his mother cowering at the kitchen table. Hermione was hiding right beside her. Laurence had rolled up his newspaper, and was swinging it at the bird, who was crying in anger and fear, her wings outstretched and beak open so as to strike at the thing in the angry man's hand.

Harry whistled shrilly. Everyone stopped screaming and Laurence stopped swinging the paper at the owl. The owl quickly flew to Harry's shoulder.

“Harry, what the hell is going on?” yelled Laurence.

“It's an owl,” Harry said simply.

“I know what it is,” his father said. “What the hell is it doing in our house?”

Harry handed the letter to his father. As Laurence took it, the owl let out a cry that deafened Harry and made Laurence step back cautiously. Laurence read the letter quickly, and said, “That man Hagrid sent you this bird? To keep?”

“Is he insane?” Jean cried.

“Why not?” Harry said to them. “She's pretty.”

“So are tigers, but you don't keep them in your home,” Laurence shouted.

“But, Dad,” Harry moaned. The owl flew off Harry's shoulder and over to Hermione's, where she began preening the girl's hair. This startled Hermione at first, but very soon, she giggled as the bird ran its beak through her hair, combing out the tangles. She nuzzled up to Hermione. Despite her initial fright, Hermione took to the bird very kindly. She raised her hand and scratched the owl behind her neck. The owl cooed appreciatively.

“I like her,” Hermione said fondly.

“See? She likes us,” Harry said to his father.

“She likes you kids,” Laurence corrected his son. He threw his paper down onto his chair. “All right, fine. You are in charge of taking care of her, Harry, seeing as Hagrid gave her to you. You feed her and provide her with water. She stays in your room when we have company. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered.

“Good,” Laurence said, sitting down and reopening his newspaper. The owl bristled at the sight of it. “Please take your new pet upstairs, Harry.”

Harry did as he was asked. On the way up, he heard his father say, “Make certain you give her a sensible name. Nothing like Beaky, or what have you. Something truly befitting a bird as beautiful as that.”

“Yes, Dad,” Harry replied, slightly amused at his father's comment.

Harry spent the rest of that day perusing his spellbooks alongside Hermione. She had come up to join him, as she was eager to become better acquainted with the new owl. Quizzing each other on Potions and Charms and most of all their other subjects, they studied every aspect of the Magical World they now had their newly acquired resources. Reviewing his History of Magic textbook, Harry came across the name Hedwig. As soon as he said this name to the owl, her head perked slightly as if that name, that one word, took on some deeper meaning than anything the owl had ever thought or heard in her lifetime. She chirped happily when Harry called her by that name again.

“Hedwig is her name, then,” Harry laughed.

Hedwig quickly flew to Harry and began nibbling affectionately at his ear once more.

“It's a good name,” Hermione agreed.

Harry looked again at the tickets Hagrid had included with his note. He hadn't looked at the tickets properly, owing to the fact he devoted most of his attention upon Hedwig. But, now he saw something truly odd about the tickets. They called for him and Hermione to go to King's Cross to catch a train, the Hogwarts Express, on the First of September at Platform 9 ¾. He showed the tickets to Hermione, who took on a queer look as she read them.

“Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?” she asked him. “There's no such place, is there?”

“I wouldn't be too sure,” he said back to her.

When the children came downstairs for dinner, Harry told his parents the name he gave his new pet. Jean liked the name, as did his father, who commented, “That's a rather distinguished one. And she likes it? The owl, I mean?”

“She seems to,” Harry said. He asked his father, “Could I let her out to fly around at night? They are creatures of the night, after all.”

“That's fine,” Laurence told him. “So long as you clean up after her every morning.”

“Yes, dad.”

“And, just, make sure she doesn't fly downstairs too often. Understood?”

“Okay, dad.”

Harry also showed his parents the tickets for the Hogwarts Express. They looked at them just as Hermione had done.

“Sometimes, I feel like I've gone completely mad,” Laurence said to no one in particular.

“How can there be a Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?” Jean asked.

“However that may be, we won't really know until the First,” Laurence replied. “For now, we just wait until we go there.”

The next morning, no sooner had Harry sat down to breakfast with his family when Hedwig flew to the table and perched herself on the back of Laurence's chair. Laurence looked back in surprise.

“Harry, yesterday, what did I tell you about Hedwig?” the man asked his son.

“That she has to stay upstairs,” Harry recited.

“Then, why is she down here, standing on the back of my chair?”

“Maybe she wants to read the paper?”

“Take Hedwig back upstairs, please,” Laurence told Harry. He turned the page of the newspaper, but stopped when Hedwig let out a squawk, almost as if to say, “Hey! I wasn't finished with that article!”

The action surprised everyone, Laurence most of all, given that he was well within earshot of the bird. He turned back the page, most unnerved and surprised, and held it at her eye level. Hedwig looked intently at the newspaper, before she tapped him on the shoulder with her beak. Laurence turned the page in a very nonplussed fashion. Hedwig chirped appreciatively and took in the new page.

Harry and Hermione began to laugh at the sight of their father and Harry's pet inadvertently bonding. Jean took up her children's reaction as well. Laurence could only look on, bemused at the situation, just as Hedwig was. But, very soon after, Laurence could only laugh about it as well, leaving only the owl to look upon the humans' behaviour with something akin to confusion.

Thereafter, Hedwig would join Laurence in reading the paper.

*****HPG*****

About a week after the visit to Diagon Alley, the family held a dinner to celebrate Harry's birthday with their grandparents. Granddad Andy was eager to hear that his grandchildren were accepted into a prestigious school. Though, they could say nothing to him or to Laurence's parents, Donald and Irene, about it, being that they were Muggles. So, the family settled, against their desire not to lie to their elders, to concoct a story about a boarding school in Scotland.

“What's the name of the school?” Andrew asked.

“St. Ignatius,” Laurence replied. “It's a little ways outside of Aberdeen, I think.”

“It's a Catholic school, then?” Donald asked.

“They seemed fairly secular to us,” Jean answered. “Apparently, Harry's birth parents went there. The school offered him a place because of that.”

“We learned their names were James and Lily,” Harry told his parents.

Jean added, “They were very respectable people, from what the school's representative told us.”

“Very good to hear,” Andrew stated. “Just glad you got to know at least a little about them, Harry.”

“Well, what about Hermione?” Irene asked.

“We spoke with the school's administrators, and they're eager to see her as a student as well,” said Laurence. “Her marks were so exceptional, they instantly jumped at the chance to admit her.”

“That's damn good,” Andrew said. “Any place that doesn't take her isn't a good place at all.”

The rest of the night was spent discussing many of the things in Muggle World they were most fond of—what team had the best of winning the Cup; how business was going for their grandparents; how Jean's garden was coming along. No more talk about the school or the kids' upcoming term came up, which no one minded.

* * *

The days since the party bled together. The kids' studied until it felt like their eyes would pop out and run away to stop the strain. But, all the same, they came to be very knowledgeable about many things in the Wizarding World, Hermione more so than Harry, though Harry was quick to show he was more learned in the areas of Quidditch and Defence Against the Dark Arts.

The rest of their holidays went splendidly. The night before they were to leave for Hogwarts, the family had a big dinner, just Laurence, Jean, Hermione, and Harry. Laurence grilled some steaks for everyone. Jean made dessert, a cake with with chocolate icing which she also decorated with a purple crest with the letter H, just like they had seen before.

The whole evening was pleasant and lovely, right up to the point where the kids went to bed. Their trunks and books were all set to go. Harry bid Hedwig good night and lay down to sleep.

*****HPG*****

_It was cold. Cold as a winter's day. Snow was falling, the ground taking on a pure white cover. So, it was safe to assume that it really was winter at the present moment._

_When Harry looked to his right, he saw the oddest sight. There was a tree. A cherry tree, and it was in full bloom, its blossoms unaffected by the cold or the frost. Playing in front of the tree was a girl, a girl with claret-red hair. When she looked up, Harry saw her eyes matched his in shape and hue. The girl ran to the tree and clambered through the hole near its base, disappearing into it as easily as any animal that was apt to live down there._

_Harry felt compelled to follow her, despite his wariness at playing Alice. The hole leading down beneath the tree was narrow, barely big enough for him to squeeze through, but he was able to get through. The dirt passage was laced with roots and lined with some moss, all of it squirming with insects. Harry gingerly avoiding stepping on or laying a hand on any of them._

_A light shone at the far end, telling Harry he was almost out of this dirty passage. He climbed out and fell onto a wood floor. A stable structure made of wood. As he got to his feet, Harry saw that he was in a home. At least, he thought it was a home. It felt like a home. To him, anyway. As he looked around wildly, his eyes fell upon the girl._

_Except, this was a different girl than the one he saw outside the tree. Her hair was red like the girl before. Except it was not red like a claret. More like a flaming, fiery copper red. And whereas the first girl had a complexion as white as alabaster, this girl's face was adorned with a spattering of freckles. Her eyes, too, were different. Whereas the girl outside had almond-shaped green eyes like Harry had, this girl had chocolate brown eyes that were narrower than the other girl's. The second girl ran down the rickety stairs. Harry was quick to follow suit. She dashed down the steps, her long coppery tresses flying behind her. Harry followed as best he could, but the girl was faster than he was. She got to the bottom and ran through the door, slamming the door behind her. When Harry got to the ground floor, he threw open the door—to find a passenger train rushing by._

_It surprised him, to say the least, to find a train outside this place, but this was a dream after all._ Stranger things have happened, _he thought to himself as he stepped through the door onto a train platform. No sooner had he thought that then an even stranger sight fell upon his eyes. The train morphed from steel and glass to a long body of scales. The mass slithered past and Harry looked up to see a truly frightening sight—a giant snake looked down upon him. It hissed and reared back its head, ready to strike Harry and consume him whole._

_Just as it lunged at him, a roar sounded through the darkness, and a large beast took the snake in its jaws. A sickening crunch resounded through the darkness. The beast released the snake and it fell over dead. The blood gushed from its neck. Harry staggered back to avoid the fountain that spewed from the creature's veins. Harry looked up again to see a giant lion looking down on him. The lion stood proudly, with a dusty flaxen body and a mane as red as the soil from where it hailed. Its lips and jaw glistened with the snake's blood. With a look of regard to Harry, he went back into the darkness, leaving Harry shaken._

_When he turned back to look at the snake, it was gone. Nowhere to be seen. Not even its blood was left behind._

_Harry looked wildly about the room, seeing nothing but the darkness. A cold feeling rose from his stomach, permeating his very being. A snarl from behind him turned his head. The snake rose over him. Its eyes glowed with an eerie green light, the green light that frightened him ever so often. It bore its fangs, and lunged down at him—_

*****HPG*****

Harry awoke, the sheets drenched in his sweat. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths in order to center himself, regain his bearings. It was just a dream, nothing more. But, he remembered, it was a dream with the green light. He threw off the blankets and picked up a notepad and a pencil on his desk. He strode to the door and walked out into the hall. The house was silent as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. The front door opened, to Harry's great surprise. Laurence stepped over the threshold and locked the door behind him. Laurence seemed very surprised to see Harry, or anyone really, awake. It shouldn't have surprised him, given that Harry would still wake up from nightmares.

“Long night?” Harry asked.

“Something like that. Paperwork always makes for a long night,” Laurence replied, slapping his briefcase, before asking in return, “Bad dream?”

“Odd, not bad.”

“How so?” his father asked, intrigued at his son's statement.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.” Laurence led the way to the kitchen. Harry put the kettle on, while his dad went to the refrigerator and pulled out the remains of a sandwich he'd made the day before, along with the carton of milk. Harry brought down a mug for himself and a glass for his dad.

He sat at the table, writing every detail he could remember about his newest dream. Laurence looked upon his son with great concern as he did so, pouring himself some milk. Harry smiled wanly at him. With the last detail written down, he slid the notepad to his father, who took it up with keen interest.

“That is an interesting one,” muttered Laurence, setting the notepad down.

A silence fell over them, before Harry decided to tell his father, “I think these dreams are trying to tell me something.”

“Tell you something?”

“Like, show me something that's about to happen or something to look for, or what I'm supposed to do,” Harry explained, and he recounted the correlation he made between the events like the Zoo Incident, the phone call from Dumbledore and the meeting with McGonagall and the dreams that took place before those events. Laurence listened to Harry, but said nothing.

“So,” Laurence finally asked, “when we met the owl in the park, why wasn't there a dream before that happened?”

“I don't know,” Harry said honestly. “I can't figure out why nothing happened before that, but I just know that there is some relation between what happens in the dreams and what will happen in real life.”

“Like they're trying to show you the future?” asked Laurence sceptically.

“I'm not saying that's what's happening to me. I'm just saying that...” He trailed off. With a sigh, he said, but reluctantly, “Okay, maybe that is what I'm trying to say.”

“Harry, that's ridiculous,” Laurence chided. “Nobody can predict the future.”

“All of us thought it was ridiculous for Magic to exist, but we found out otherwise, didn't we?” Harry asked him.

“But, still,” he said, conceding his point, but not agreeing outright.

“Dad, as best as I can figure, this is what's happening here. I know how crazy it sounds, and I'm certain there's another explanation out there, but just let me go with it.”

“Okay,” his dad said. Reading over everything on the notepad, Laurence said to him, “It seems natural for you to dream about trains tonight. You will have to take one to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“Why the part about your mum, though?”

“I don't know. It might have been just a way to lead me into the rest of the dream. I didn't recognise the other girl, though.”

“You never saw the other girl before in your life?”

“Never.”

His father looked back at the notepad, going deeper into thought, like one of the cases he used to investigate.

“What about the lion and the snake?”

“I think I might know,” Hermione said. Father and son looked over in surprise to find Hermione standing by the refrigerator, a book in her arms, held close to her chest. Her hair was tousled from a night's sleep.

“Hermione, how long have you been up?” Laurence asked her, concerned.

“Not long,” she answered. “I just heard you two talking and thought I should see if I could help.”

She walked over to Laurence, who wrapped an arm around her and placed a kiss at her temple.

“Now, what did you want to tell us?” Laurence asked her.

She set out the book about Hogwarts and opened on two pages that showed four crests, each bearing a different animal. From left to right, Harry saw a golden lion on a crest of scarlet; a sable badger on bright yellow; a bronze eagle on blue; and a silver snake on dark green.

“Hogwarts is made up of four Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Gryffindor's sigil is the lion. Slytherin's is the snake. It might be that you have to choose between these two Houses.”

“Why those? Why not the other two?”

“I don't know.”

“Who else were in those Houses?” Laurence asked her.

“The author, Bathilda Bagshot, didn't list anyone who went into any of the Houses. She did write down the characteristics each House values above all others. Nobility, bravery, and daring in Gryffindor; hard work, fairness and loyalty in Hufflepuff; wisdom, studiousness, and creativity in Ravenclaw; and ambition, cunning, and resourcefulness for Slytherin.”

“But, there's nothing about who might have been in those Houses?”

“No, there isn't.”

This left Harry with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Why did he have to choose between these two Houses in the school? Who could have been there? Who went to which House? Did it have to do with someone he knew? Or, someone he had been related to?

“James and Lily,” Harry called out.

“What about them?”

“They must have been in either Gryffindor or Slytherin. Or, possibly, he was in one House and she was in the other.”

“That might be,” Laurence muttered.

“There was something about the snake I didn't like,” Harry admitted. “Its eyes. It was like they were full of the green light.”

“Was there something about the lion that bothered you?” Laurence asked, to which Harry shook his head.

“Seems like Gryffindor might be the better of the two Houses,” Laurence mused, though he cautioned after, “if this dream can be trusted.”

He stood up, closing the book and handing it back to Hermione. “But, that can wait for tomorrow. For now, you kids need some good sleep. Come on, up to bed.”

Laurence led both daughter and son up to their respective rooms.

“Tomorrow, you'll be on your way to your new school,” Laurence said. “Now, good night.”

“Good night, Dad,” Harry and Hermione said, as their father gave them both a kiss on their foreheads and nudged them to their bedrooms.

*****HPG*****

The morning after, the kids were quick to rise and ate a light breakfast. Both parents were ready to see their children to the station. Hedwig waited in her cage as Harry and Hermione brought their belongings downstairs. Laurence and Harry loaded everything in the boot of the car (except for Hedwig, who would be situated between the two children in the back seat).

The drive to King's Cross was silent. Nobody really said a word. Nobody needed to. There would be plenty to say when they saw each other off.

The car pulled up to the station. Laurence popped open the boot as Jean promptly jumped out, followed by Hermione and Harry, who carried Hedwig in her cage. As soon as they found some carts to set their luggage on, the family walked through the station until they reached Platforms 9 and 10. Everyone looked at each other, expecting someone to speak about what they should do.

Hermione decided to stop a passing guard. He looked upon her kindly, but with bemusement.

“Excuse me,” she said. She stammered a bit, trying to decide on how she would ask this man how she could find what she was looking for. She couldn't mention where she was heading or the guard would become suspicious, nor could she mention the name of the train she and her family sought. Thus, she settled on asking the guard, “What platform will the 11:00 train be arriving at?”

“I beg your pardon?” the guard asked her, almost as if he believed the girl asked him something horribly offensive.

“Where can we catch the 11:00 train?” Hermione repeated.

“There isn't an 11:00 train today,” the guard answered in a huff, before stalking away and muttering, “Bloody time-wasters...”

Hermione turned back to her family, dejected but more worried that she and Harry wouldn't catch the train to Hogwarts than anything. She related to her parents what the guard had told her.

“The train has to be here,” Jean said. “They wouldn't say so if it weren't true.”

“No, they wouldn't,” Laurence concurred. “There must be something we're missing. What would a wizard do right now?”

“Look for other wizards?” Hermione suggested.

His question left the family looking around the station, at everything that fell upon their eyes, but at nothing in particular, really. When Harry looked to his right, he saw a group of redheaded people, most likely a family, led by an older plump woman, who must have been their mother, speaking animatedly about the state of the train station. Walking alongside the mother was a girl. The girl had bright flaming, coppery red hair and chocolate brown eyes. Some of the mother's words caught Harry's ear: “—it's the same as every year, packed with Muggles—”

Harry turned to see where they were going. They were walking up the platform to a pillar in between the two, about three-quarters of the way down. Harry followed them, almost as if he were in a trance. “Come along, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters this way,” the mother called.

Harry's father came running up behind him. “Harry, don't wander off like that,” he admonished his son. “You know how much I tell you that.”

Harry pointed to the family. “The older woman was talking about Muggles,” he explained to Laurence.

“You stay put and watch them,” Laurence advised, and dashed back to Jean and Hermione. “I'll get your mother and sister.”

Harry turned back to look at the family. “All right, Percy,” the mother said. “You first.”

The oldest of the boys moved his cart to face the barrier. Harry noticed that his family came up to join him in watching the family. The boy named Percy pushed the cart and walked briskly toward the barrier. A crowd of tourists walked between the boy named Percy and the rest of his family. When the tourists passed, the boy was gone.

“Where did he go?” Hermione said.

“It's like he vanished,” Laurence said in great surprise.

One of the other boys—two of whom were stocky and were most likely twins, while the other was tall and lanky—was about to go toward the barrier.

With an exasperated sigh, Jean said, “It's not like we'll find out how to get there just by gawking at them.” She walked toward the family, leaving hers standing uncertain about what she had just said.

“Excuse me?” Jean called out. This got the attention of the older woman, who took on a kind manner toward Jean. The woman's children looked at all of them with curiosity.

“Begging your pardon, madam, but, you see, my husband and I are Muggles, and our children are starting their first year at Hogwarts,” Jean explained, quizzically as she didn't know if she were really speaking nonsense to someone who might or might not be involved in a world that she and her family had only learned about within the last few weeks.

The woman took on a much kinder demeanour toward the family, as she understood perfectly well what Jean meant, and joyously replied, “Oh, are they? That's splendid! Ron here will be starting his first year as well.”

The tall, lanky boy nodded and smiled slightly. The girl hid behind her mother as Harry looked at her. He tried to smile to make her more comfortable, but that plan backfired as she hid even more, though Harry could tell she was smiling in return.

Jean continued with the mother, “The problem is we're not entirely certain how to...you know.”

“How to get onto the platform?” the woman finished. “Oh, not to worry. You're not the first Muggles I've helped through the barrier, and it's simple enough.”

“Through?” Laurence asked, slightly unnerved.

“Fred,” the woman said to the twin closest to the barrier, “go on through. Show them how it's done.”

“I'm Fred, he's George!” the other twin cried.

“Honestly, how can you call yourself our mother?” his brother added indignantly.

“Sorry, George,” their mother said, motioning for him to go.

The first twin got himself and his cart into position, and said over his shoulder, “Only joking, I am Fred,” before breaking into a run straight at the barrier. Rather than crashing into the solid brick wall, he passed through it as if it were nothing but air. His brother quickly followed suit and passed through just as easily.

“Did they—” Laurence was about to say.

“They passed through to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters,” the woman said kindly. “Now, let's have this young girl go first. What's your name, dear?”

“Hermione,” she said.

“Well, Hermione,” the woman said, “all you need do is run straight at that barrier. Don't stop, and don't worry that you'll crash into it. Best to do it at a run if you're nervous.”

Hermione pushed her cart into position. She looked back at her family, then back at the barrier and took a deep breath. She broke into a run. Her family watched as, to their great surprise, she did not collide with bricks and mortar, but instead effortlessly passed through it.

“Right,” the older lady said, satisfied with the results. To Harry, she asked, “Now, you, young man, what's your name?”

“Harry,” he told her.

“Now, Harry,” she said to him, “you go on and you do exactly what your sister did.”

Harry rolled his cart into position, just like Hermione had done. The wall appeared intimidating, to him, anyway.

“Good luck!” the girl cried to him.

He looked back at her. She hid away again, but kept her eyes on him. He felt a wave of confidence wash over him as he looked back at the wall. He could do this. This was nothing, probably literally. He pushed against his cart and dashed forward. As the barrier drew closer, as he could make out each brick and their respective flaws, the wall disappeared. He passed through what felt like a tunnel until another wall came up. Harry kept pressing on, and passed through the second wall, coming out onto a new platform. Standing before him, awestruck about her surroundings, was Hermione. She looked up at a gleaming scarlet steam engine, on the front of which was a plaque that read “Hogwarts Express.” Harry came up beside her, looking on the steam engine in almost exactly the same manner she regarded the train.

“By Jove,” Harry heard his father say. He turned to see Laurence and Jean staring at the train, engrossed with something they never expected to exist, even in their wildest dreams.

The mother that helped them came through the barrier, with the boy named Ron and her little girl close behind her.

“You best find a compartment,” she advised them. “Everyone tends to claim them quickly.”

The Grangers followed her further down the platform. Harry caught sight of the sign, reading “Platform 9 ¾—Hogwarts Express”. The platform bustled with families seeing off their children. Cats weaved through the legs of the families. Owls hooted in their cages. They passed a round-faced boy who looked about his trunk for something. A much older woman wearing a hat topped with what appeared to be a moth-eaten stuffed vulture stood nearby. She asked the boy, “Where was he last?”

“He was on my trunk,” the boy cried. “I can't go without Trevor!”

As they moved on, they saw the twins Fred & George on either side of a boy with dreadlocks holding a box.

“Give us a look, Lee,” Fred asked of the boy.

“Come on,” George said.

The boy named Lee opened the box slightly. A long hairy leg poked out, felling the air around the box. A brunette girl nearly squealed and backed away, but soon found herself giggling with all her friends.

The Grangers stopped at the third-to-last carriage. Harry went through the carriage and found a compartment near the end, where he put Hedwig so they could keep it. They went back out to the platform. Laurence helped Harry carry his trunk to the compartment. When they got it tucked into the corner, Laurence went out to help Hermione with hers.

“Thank you again for helping us,” Jean heard his mother say to the woman who helped them get to the platform. He looked out to see his mother have a conversation with the lady who helped them.

“Think nothing of it,” she said to Jean. “I'm always glad to help any family get to Hogwarts if they don't know the way. Yours seem close. Your children, I mean. Twins almost always are. Believe me, I know. You can never get Fred and George apart for anything.”

“What? Oh, no, Harry and Hermione aren't twins. Though, honestly, they're more than close enough. No, Hermione is only a few months older than Harry. And as much as we wish otherwise, Harry wasn't born to us. We adopted him as a baby.”

“I was wondering why they didn't look alike,” the lady said. “Well, it's good he has such a terrific family.”

“Thank you. Oh!” Jean cried, as if just remembering something. “I'm so sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm Jean Granger.”

“Oh, my goodness, no need to apologise,” the other woman said. “I'm Molly Weasley. You met my sons, Fred, George and Ron. Their older brother Percy went through the barrier before. And Ginny,” Mrs Weasley indicated her little girl, “has yet to go to Hogwarts.”

“When will you go to Hogwarts?” Jean asked the girl.

“Next year,” Ginny said demurely. To her mother, she asked defiantly, “But why can't I go now, Mummy?”

“Because you're not old enough, Ginny,” her mother answered, “just like you said.”

"I never said anything of the sort," she told her mother.

Laurence came back with Hermione, carrying her trunk. They set it atop Harry's with a grunt from Laurence. The twins Fred & George came to the compartment, carrying a trunk. Behind them was their younger brother, Ron.

“Begging your pardon—” Fred said.

“Would you mind if—” George began to ask.

“—our brother Ron—”

“—shared this compartment?”

“Not at all,” Laurence replied, slightly bewildered by them sharing the same question. The twins set their brother's trunk in the corner opposite Harry and Hermione's. When that was in place, Laurence said to them, “Come on. Let's you two say good-bye to your mother.”

Laurence left the compartment. Fred & George stepped out of the compartment as well.

Fred said to Ron, “Ron, come on—”

“—Got to say good-bye to Mum,” added George. Ron nodded, set down what looked like a really old rat, and left the compartment. Harry and Hermione followed them out onto the platform. All the families were saying their last goodbyes before the train took them to Hogwarts. Mrs Weasley took hold of Ron and began wiping off some dirt from his nose.

“Mum, stop,” Ron cried.

“Do you want to get Sorted with dirt on your nose?” Mrs Weasley asked him, as only a mother would. Ron relented and Mrs Weasley did her work as only a mother could. Percy came up, already dressed in his Hogwarts robes, with a silver badge fastened to his cloak. “Sorry I'm late, Mum,” Percy said. “I had to sign in at the Prefects' carriage.”

“You're a Prefect, Percy?” asked Fred in mock surprise.

“You should have told us,” said George with equally mocking indignation, playfully slapping him on the arm.

“No, wait, he did—”

“That's right, once—”

“Or twice—”

“A minute—”

“ _All summer—_ ”

“I have to get going, Mum,” Percy said, pointedly ignoring the remarks of his brothers. He gave her a kiss on her cheek, and walked back, saying over his shoulder, “I'll send Hermes with a letter when I'm there.”

Jean bent down and placed a kiss on both of her children's cheeks. “You both,” she told her children. “Learn loads of new things. Study hard and get good marks. Make plenty of new friends.”

“Most importantly, though,” she added. “Look out for each other this year, and every year after that.”

“Yes, Mum,” the children said, as the both of them took her into a great hug.

Mrs Weasley rounded on Fred & George. She told the two of them, “You two behave yourselves. No shenanigans. If I hear that you two blew up a toilet or what have you—”

“We have never blown up a toilet in our lives,” George said defensively.

“But, thank you for the idea,” said Fred.

“I am serious,” Mrs Weasley further admonished her boys. “Do not get into trouble. Now, get going. You don't want to keep Lee Jordan waiting.”

“But—”

“We thought you didn't want us getting into trouble.” They dashed off to meet their friend, leaving their mother huffing about their cheek.

“Hermione,” Laurence said to her. “You are such a brilliant girl. I know you'll be one of the best students of your year.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said bashfully.

“Always do your very best, in everything,” he continued. “Help your brother, and stay strong, no matter what anyone says to you.”

“I will, Dad,” she replied.

With that, Laurence bent down to speak with Harry. He grew more serious. Harry had a very strong feeling that his father was about to talk about what everyone would expect of him.

“People are going to expect a lot from you, son,” Laurence told his son gravely, confirming his expectations.

“I know,” Harry said.

“All I can say is that you can't let them get to you. Don't let anyone raise you on a pedestal just so they can tear you down.”

“I don't even know what that means.”

Laurence snorted at his son's unexpected levity. “What I mean to say is that you should always remember who you are. You're James and Lily's son, yes; but you're also our son. We're your family. It'll get to be tough, having to deal with everyone thinking you're this amazing individual just because of what you went through as a baby, but don't let that attention get to your head. You are better than that. Show them that you are.”

“Okay, Dad,” Harry said.

“And don't forget, if you're having trouble with anything at all, you can always talk to Hermione. You never have to deal with anything alone. Ever.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Look out for her as well. And last but not least, learn lots. Get good marks. Make good friends.”

“I will.” Harry threw his arms around his father's neck.

Laurence patted his son's back before standing back up. “Now, say thank you to Mrs Weasley for helping us get here.”

“Thank you for helping us, Mrs Weasley,” Harry and Hermione said.

“You're very welcome,” the lady replied fondly. “I hope the both of you have a wonderful first term.”

The little girl named Ginny was looking on Harry with a queer expression now, as if she recognised who he really was for some odd reason. Her eyes widened as she saw his scar. Harry brushed his hair down to hide it and avoid any further attention that might keep him from getting to Hogwarts.

The train's whistle sounded, causing everyone to make their way onto the train.

“We'll write you a letter once we're all settled,” Hermione shouted over her shoulder.

“Goodbye!” Harry shouted.

“Mummy, do you know who that was?” the girl named Ginny cried. Harry got onto the train before she could cause a scene. The moment they got to their compartment, the train lurched forward and began the journey up to Hogwarts.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stuck their heads out of the window and waved goodbye to their parents. Harry saw Ginny running after the train, waving and giggling madly before the train gained speed and left the station.

Harry and Hermione watched out the window as the train wended its way through the city and out into the country. Once they were outside of the city, the siblings turned their attention to their new schoolmate.

“So, I'm Ron Weasley,” the boy named Ron said. “Sorry I didn't get to introduce myself properly.”

“No bother,” replied Hermione. “I'm Hermione Granger, and this is my brother Harry.”

“Hi,” greeted Harry cheerfully.

“Brother?” asked Ron, slightly confused. “You don't look alike.”

“Adopted,” Harry answered simply. “My parents died when I was a baby.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Ron said. Harry could tell that Ron genuinely meant it, unlike that blond git Malfoy back in Diagon Alley. He felt grateful for that.

“It's all right,” said Harry. “The Grangers have always been my family.”

“Who were your parents?” asked Ron. “Your birth parents, I mean?”

At this question, Harry showed reluctance toward answering him. Hermione could sense his unease, and she said to him, “Harry, you should tell him. He's bound to find out sooner or later.”

Harry knew his sister was right. Though he didn't want to say his name aloud, he knew he needed to explain to Ron who he was. So, entirely on impulse, he brought his hand to his forehead and brushed back his hair, revealing his scar.

Ron went pale in surprise. His eyes went wide and he exclaimed, “No way!”

“Could you maybe not—?” Harry began to ask, before Ron put his fears at ease.

“I won't say a word,” Ron assured him. “Not unless you want me to. It's just—it's bloody incredible. I've met Harry Potter and I'm sharing a compartment with him too,” adding a bit nervously, “and his sister.”

Hermione smiled slightly. Harry brushed his hair back over his forehead.

Outside the compartment, an old woman pushed a trolley full of sweets and drinks. She poked her head in and asked, “Anything off the trolley, dears?”

Ron brought out what appeared to be a sandwich wrapped in cellophane. “No thanks, I'm all set,” he said glumly.

Harry had a few Galleons and Sickles left over from their visit to Diagon Alley. He asked the lady for three of everything, not knowing what she had. He had hoped for a Mars bar, but it didn't look like wizards were familiar with Muggle sweets. Harry was opening a package of Pumpkin Pasties while Hermione was about to taste a Cauldron Cake.

“Corned beef,” Ron said indignantly, taking the cellophane off his sandwich. “She knows how much I hate corned beef.”

“Why would your mother make you a sandwich she knows you don't like?” asked Hermione.

“It's a bit hard to keep track of everything when you have seven kids,” Ron said.

“We only saw five of you,” Harry said.

“Bill and Charlie have left Hogwarts already,” Ron explained. “Bill was Head Boy his year. Charlie made Quidditch captain for his House. Percy was named a prefect this year. Fred & George mess around a lot, but they get good marks, and everyone likes them loads. When I get there, I might do all those things, but it won't be as impressive as all of them because they did it first.”

“It can't be that bad,” Hermione said, trying to reassure him. “They'd still be proud of you.”

“Yeah, they would be, but it's just as bad I don't get anything new. I've got Bill's robes, Charlie's wand, and Percy's rat.” He held up his rat in a very begrudging manner. “Scabbers is his name. Mum and Dad got Percy a new owl when he made prefect. They gave me Scabbers.”

Harry didn't know how he could cheer up Ron, so he tried the simplest way he could think of.

“Why don't you have a pasty?” Harry offered.

“No thanks,” Ron said. “I'm all right.”

“Come on,” Harry pressed. “Have a pasty.”

Ron smiled and took it. The children spoke about the Wizarding world and Harry and Hermione's discovery that they were a witch and wizard in a very lively manner, while Scabbers feasted on the corned beef sandwich. Harry picked up a box full of what he thought were jelly beans.

“Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans?” Harry asked, reading the box.

“Yeah, and they mean every flavour,” Ron explained. “There are a lot of good ones, like chocolate and peppermint, even marshmallow and marmalade. But, there's also flavours like spinach, liver and tripe. My brother George swears he got a bogey-flavoured bean once.”

Hermione took one that looked like it would be a cherry or possibly tomato flavoured bean. She popped it into her mouth, but quickly went red and sweaty. She spat it out and chugged on her bottle of soda.

“Chili pepper,” she said, fanning her mouth. Both boys laughed at her misfortune. “Shut up! It's not funny!”

“It is a little bit,” Harry said. He picked up a box that read “Chocolate Frog.”

“Are these real frogs?” Harry asked.

“No, it's just a spell,” Ron answered. “You just need to be quick about it, though.”

Harry opened the box to find a moving frog made of chocolate. It jumped out to a great height, and Harry caught it just as fast. He opened his hand to find the frog stopped moving. Ron looked impressed at Harry's catch. Harry triumphantly ate the frog and looked back at the box to see a card with a wizard clothed in purple robes waving at him. The wizard had long silver hair and a crooked nose, on which sat a pair of half-moon glasses. A banner below fluttered with the name “Albus Dumbledore.”

“Oh, yeah, you get cards with it too,” Ron added. “Who did you get?”

“Dumbledore,” Harry replied, handing the card to Hermione. “So, that's what he looks like.”

Hermione gazed at the card with interest. “He does seem as distinguished as we thought.”

“You spoke to Dumbledore?” Ron asked.

“Not in person,” Harry said, and he explained about their phone call a month hence.

“So...he spoke to you through the fellytone?” Ron asked, utterly confused.

“Yes,” Hermione answered, “only it's called a telephone. It's a Muggle device we use to communicate over long distances.”

“I bet my dad would be really interested to see that,” said Ron. “Muggle things like that always fascinate him.”

Harry looked at the card again, only to find that the picture of Dumbledore was gone. He stated as such in great surprise.

“You can't expect him to stay there all day, can you?” Ron answered.

“Muggle photographs stay perfectly still,” Hermione told him. “They don't move at all.”

“That's so weird,” Ron said.

Hermione looked at the back of the card, and cried in astonishment, “Dumbledore has worked alongside Nicolas Flamel?”

“Who's he?” asked Harry.

“Only one of the most famous alchemists in history,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, Dumbledore's worked with pretty much everyone,” said Ron. “He's one of the most renowned wizards in the world.”

 Harry picked up another Chocolate Frog when he found a real one beside the box. Or, on a second look, it was a toad.

“Isn't this that other boy's toad?” Harry asked.

“Probably,” Hermione said.

“If I had a toad, I'd lose him as quick as I could,” Ron said. “Mind you, I'm not one to talk, with Scabbers and all.”

“We should take it back to him,” Harry said.

“I guess,” Ron said noncommittally.

The three kids agreed that one of them should stay in the compartment and keep an eye on their things. Harry and Hermione left, he holding the toad as she didn't want to even look at the creature. As they began their walk along the carriage, Harry heard a snotty voice call, “Oi! You!”

Harry turned and saw the blond boy called Malfoy, along with two other boys Harry could have sworn were gorillas made to dress like humans, surrounding him and Hermione. He strode to meet her, as Malfoy said, “What do you think you're doing here?”

“None of your business,” Hermione said simply.

“None of your business,” Malfoy mocked. “Take it somewhere else, then. Like off of this train.”

“What's going on here?” the voice of Percy Weasley called. The Granger siblings saw the round-faced boy was following him. Well, at least they wouldn't have to look all over the train for him.

“Telling this Mudblood to get lost,” Malfoy sneered. Harry hadn't heard that phrase before, but he very quickly thought it bore nothing positive in any way.

“The girl can be here if she wants,” Percy admonished Malfoy and his friends. “Let her pass. Now.”

“We were only looking for the boy with you,” Hermione said to Percy. “Is this his toad?”

“Trevor!” the boy exclaimed, adding, “Thank you!” before he dashed off.

Draco glared all the while at her. Hermione matched it. Ron stood at the door to their compartment, watching the scene unfold. As the boy and Percy left, Percy the Prefect said to Malfoy, “And do not use that word.”

Percy left and went to the next carriage forward. Malfoy and his two cronies glowered at Harry and turned their attention on him. Malfoy matched his gaze, while the other boys glared down on him.

“Don't think a prefect will be around all the time to save your hide, or hers,” Malfoy told him. “What's your name?”

“What does it matter to you?” Harry asked him.

“I just want to know the name of the people I should avoid the most.”

“I guess you'll just have to find out later,” Harry said, nudging past Malfoy. One of the larger boy stopped Harry from going any farther, grabbing him by the arm, hard enough he could have broken it in two.

Malfoy squinted his eyes as he gazed at Harry's forehead. “What's that on your forehead?”

“Just a bump I got this morning,” Harry muttered. He tried to go back to the compartment, but the boy beside Malfoy still kept him from getting any farther. One of the larger boys grabbed Harry's arm and used his other hand to brush back his hair, though the boy didn't so much brush his hair back as shove his hand into Harry's forehead in the imitation of brushing. Harry saw Malfoy and his friends take on awestruck expressions as they goggled at his scar. The boy let go of Harry's arm in shock. Harry rubbed his arm as the sting of the larger boy's grip began to dissipate.

“You're Harry Potter!” Malfoy shouted in surprise. The rest of the carriage turned and looked at Harry with the greatest surprise.

“What of it?”

“It's an honour to meet you,” said Malfoy, becoming more obsequious to Harry. Harry could tell he liked this Malfoy git a lot less, especially when he was kissing up to Harry.

“This is Crabbe and Goyle,” he said, motioning to the two larger boys, indicating the latter boy was the one who nearly broke Harry's arm, “and I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron snorted at the mention. “Oh, you think my name is funny?” the blond boy snapped. “Well, I don't need to ask you yours. My father told me that you can always tell a Weasley by their red hair, ratty clothes, and that there are more of them than they can afford.”

Ron glared at Malfoy and his face went slightly pink. Hermione's hands balled into fists as her anger at this boy grew.

Malfoy turned back to Harry, obsequious again. He told Harry, “It would be a good idea for you to make good friends before you get to Hogwarts, Potter. You'll see soon enough that some wizarding families are better than others. I can help you there.”

Malfoy held out his hand to Harry. Harry looked at it with revulsion. His eyes met Hermione's and he imagined what would happen to the two of them if he befriended this boy. How she would see him, how his parents would see him, how this boy already looked down on her and his family like they were only barely civilised.

“Apologise,” Harry said, staring at Malfoy squarely in the eye.

“Apologise for what?” Malfoy asked, taken aback by Harry's statement.

“For how you treated my sister,” Harry said plainly. On Malfoy's expression of confusion, Harry pointed to Hermione, and said, “Her.”

Malfoy looked at Hermione with a mixture of shock and disgust. Everyone watched the confrontation nervously, no one knowing if they ought to step in and break it up or not.

Pointing to Ron, Harry added, “And apologise for what you said about his family.”

Crabbe and Goyle appeared as though they ready to clobber Harry, Ron and Hermione on basic principle for their insolence. Malfoy had a pink tinge about his pale pointed face. He bore a stony expression as he took back his hand.

“Looks like I met one of the bad families, then,” Harry said, walking past Malfoy, followed quickly by Ron and Hermione. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looked on them with unbridled hatred.

They stepped back into their compartment. Once inside, they shut the door and drew the blinds, so as not to be disturbed by anyone else.

“The Malfoys are some of the worst around,” Ron said, once Harry closed the door. “They were one of the first families to turn to You-Know-Who. And when the War ended, they said they were bewitched to do it. Everyone says otherwise, but they can't really prove it.”

An uneasy silence fell over the compartment. Ron went about eating a pasty before Harry spoke up.

“Ron,” Harry asked, broaching the subject as carefully as he could think how, “the Four Houses, which of them are you hoping you'll be sorted into?”

“Oh,” Ron wondered, although if it was obvious he hadn't put too much thought into the matter until now. “Well, I suspect I'll be put in Gryffindor. All of my family went there. So, I expect I might follow tradition. Don't think I'm smart enough for Ravenclaw. And I wouldn't want to be a Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff doesn't make many noteworthy wizards.”

“What about Slytherin?” asked Hermione.

Ron grew pale, paler than his complexion should have allowed. “Oh, you don't want to go into Slytherin, not unless you really, really mean to,” Ron warned.

“Why not?”

“There's not a single witch or wizard that went into Slytherin and didn't turn bad,” Ron said. “They say that's where You-Know-Who got Sorted.”

Harry felt the breath catch in his throat. That was why the dream showed him the lion and the snake. Both his parents must have been in Gryffindor. You-Know-Who, Lord Voldemort, was a Slytherin. No matter what, he couldn't end up there. He could not let himself be Sorted into the House of his parents' killer.

*****HPG*****

A few hours after their last conversation, the train pulled into the station. No further discussion was made about the Sorting or of their encounter with Malfoy, speaking only about other Chocolate Frog cards. The children had dressed in their uniforms. They left their trunks and pets in their compartment and filed out of the train carriage. Everyone around them spoke excitedly about what they could expect in the future term. A large figure stood at the end of the platform, swinging a lantern to and fro. Harry heard Hagrid's voice calling out over the rabble of the students, “Firs'-years, over here! All firs'-years, come on over this way!”

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, Hagrid smiled, his beetle black eyes glinting in the light of his lantern, a flowery pink umbrella in his other hand. “Hello, Harry, Hermione.” Taking notice of Ron, Hagrid said, “You're one of the Weasleys, ain't you?”

“Yes, sir,” Ron said, slightly embarrassed.

“You'll do fine here, lad,” Hagrid told him. “'Specially now you have two great friends.”

Ron smiled slightly. Hagrid whistled shrilly and waving his arm in his direction. “Firs'-years, this way, or you'll be left behind!”

Hagrid led the children down from the station. They walked down a set of wooden stairs, down to a cove lined with pines. Sticking out from the shore was a jetty, moored to which were several dinghies, each of which had a lit lantern dangling from their bow.

“Four to a boat,” Hagrid called out. Harry, Ron and Hermione got into one with the round-faced boy, who introduced himself as Neville Longbottom. The rest of the first-years got into the boats, Malfoy and his two friends got into a boat with a girl who had a face like a pug. Hagrid boarded his own boat. With a tap of his umbrella, he cried, “Right! Here we go!”

The boats floated away from the dock. All the kids looked around wildly in bewilderment. The boats moved across the water all by themselves. As they moved out to the Lake's greater body, they saw the castle.

Hogwarts Castle. It gleamed brightly against the night sky as the stars twinkled just as brightly in the black night sky. Every one of the first-years gasped in awe as they saw the castle for the first time. He heard one girl murmur, “It's amazing,” as she gawked in wonder.

“Much better than the picture in the book, isn't it?” Harry whispered to Hermione.

“That's putting it lightly,” she replied without taking her eyes off it.

The boats crept across the water. Each boat moved into a single-file formation as they flowed into a cave curtained with vines of ivy. The fleet traveled through a dark tunnel, where they docked at a stone jetty. Everyone filed out of the boats and onto dry land. Hagrid led them up the stone steps on a grass field glistening with the dew of the evening. The gamekeeper strode across the ground, the children scampering to keep up.

They reached a pair of great oak doors crossed with iron bars. Lions, badgers, eagles and snakes of all sizes were carved into the wood. The front of the castle was decorated with a great many stone knights, each armored and wearing a helm that resembled lions, eagles, badgers, or snakes. Each statue also wielded either a spear, axe, glaive, or mace. Hagrid knocked on the castle doors three times. He stepped back as the doors opened on a dark figure.

Down the steps glided a man dressed entirely in black with a sallow face framed by a curtain of greasy black hair. He stared out at the new students with cold black eyes and said to all of them in a silky voice, “Welcome to Hogwarts.”


	8. The Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The Hogwarts School Song is quoted directly from "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone."

Chapter Eight  
**The Sorting**

 

“Here are the first-years, Professor,” Hagrid said to the dark figure. “I'll leave them with you”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” the man replied to the gamekeeper. To the new students, he glowered, and muttered, “Follow me.”

No one dared go against the man's order, and they nervously filed into the castle. Hagrid made his way to a large pair of oak doors and walked inside. The doors made a great sound as they slammed shut. Flames along the walls guttered and cast a eerie glow over the entrance. Harry was certain that this part of the castle was far bigger than their home in Greenwich. He confirmed that thought by looking up at the ceiling and was not able make out the end of it. It may have just been the lighting, but he doubted he was wrong.

The professor led them into a room on the other side of the foyer. As soon as all the students were inside, the professor closed the door.

“I am Professor Snape,” the sallow-faced man said to the students. “I teach Potions here at Hogwarts, so you will most definitely deal with me in the future. In a few moments, you will follow me into the Great Hall, where you will partake of the annual start-of-term banquet. However, before you can enjoy that, we will sort every one of you into one of the school's four Houses. They are...Gryffindor...” Snape uttered that name with a tone that indicated the name did not sit well on his tongue, “Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw...” he said those names with something more resembling a modicum of respect, “...and Slytherin,” he finished with with much greater pride than the other three Houses.

“The Sorting is an important ceremony here at Hogwarts,” the professor continued. “Your House, from this moment until you leave Hogwarts, is your family. You take all your classes with your House, you share the same dormitory, and you will spend the majority of your free time in your House's Common room. Whatever victories or triumphs you experience, you will earn your House points, and if yours has the most, it will win you the House Cup, perhaps the most prestigious honour the school has to offer. Break any rules and you will lose points. I can assure you, regardless of the House you are Sorted into, your housemates will be most displeased to hear that you have hurt their chances of winning the Cup.

“So, do any of you have any questions?”

Harry looked over and saw Hermione raising her hand to ask a question. Professor Snape noticed this as well, although he was not eager to acknowledge her, but did so most begrudgingly.

“Yes?” he said, calling on her.

“I read that it is usually the Deputy Headmaster who welcomes the new first-years to the castle?” she stated. “Why isn't Professor McGonagall speaking to us right now?”

“Professor McGonagall has more important matters to which she must attend,” replied the professor.

“What could be more important than welcoming all the new students?” asked Hermione.

“Many things, all of which are of no concern to any of you.”

As he said those last words, he trailed off as his eyes fell upon Harry. The professor took on a shrewd expression.

“Harry Potter,” sneered Professor Snape. “Our new celebrity...”

Malfoy sniggered, along with Crabbe and Goyle. Everyone else, on the other hand, looked upon Harry in awe. Snape added, with a great deal of sarcasm, “What an great honour it is for you grace the halls of our school. We should all count ourselves so lucky even to stand in your presence.”

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle chuckled even more.

“The Sorting will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school,” Snape told them, looking upon Ron's smudged nose and Neville's cloak, which he had fastened hastily under his left ear. “I will return when everything is ready. You would do well to smarten yourselves up before I return.” To Harry, he added, “Don't let my absence get to your head.”

The professor swept from the room and slammed the door behind him, leaving all the new arrivals standing about in an awkward silence. Nobody really knew what to say to each other. They just shuffled their feet, scuffing their shoes on the cold stone floor, waiting for the professor to return.

It wasn't until Neville said something that Harry wished that the silence would continue. “Are you really Harry Potter?”

Harry felt what he thought was the eyes of every other student focused on his presence. As he looked around the room, that confirmed his suspicions.

“Harry Potter-Granger,” admitted Harry, correcting Neville at the same time.

“Why Granger?” asked Neville.

“Because it's my name,” Harry answered curtly.

“But, your parents were James and Lily Potter, right?” a sandy-haired Irish boy asked him.

“Yes, they were,” Harry said. He continued, his tone growing more exasperated, “I don't remember them. I don't remember any of my life in the Wizarding world, apart from finding out that my sister and I could do magic.”

“Sister?” the Irish boy asked, surprised that the Boy Who Lived had a sibling. “But, James and Lily—”

“I was their only child, yeah, I know,” Harry snapped. “I was adopted, and I grew up with Hermione as my older sister.”

Hermione waved sheepishly and moved closer to Harry, ready to help him calm down as much as possible. She had the feeling that starting a fight the moment he arrived at his new school was not the best way to make new friends, for Harry or for herself.

“Does anyone here know how we are all sorted into the four Houses?” asked Hermione, trying to divert any attention from her brother.

The only person to speak up was Ron, but he sounded unsure about what he'd been told. “My brother George said we would have a test in front of the entire school. He said it would hurt a lot, but I'm fairly certain he was joking about that.”

“Well, whatever it is,” said Hermione, “we need to be ready for it.”

“Some of us already are,” grumbled Malfoy.

Harry sat down at a table, regaining his composure. How could he not have known there would a test to see where he would be Sorted? How could Hermione not have known? What could this test possibly be? Would it be physical, like a race or something? Or something more cerebral? He hoped for the former, owing that it was more in his area of expertise. He knew Hermione would show everyone bloody smart she really was, but he was nowhere near as bright as her.

A startled cry turned all their heads. A blond girl with pigtails was looking up and pointing at the wall. On any other occasion, it just be a wall, except at present there were about twenty pearly-white figures passing through it. Every student was awestruck at the sight before them. Floating at the forefront of the procession was a ghost in a ruffled collar and tights speaking to another ghost who appeared to be a friar or a monk.

“My dear Friar, we have given Peeves enough chances as it is,” the ghost with the frilled collar said to the ghost that looked like a monk.

“Sir Nicholas, I do wish you would just call me by my proper name,” the monk ghost said. “Besides, forgive and forget, I say.”

“You're welcome to that thought, but I'd rather—I say, new students!”

All the students looked up in shock at the floating apparitions that came through the wall. The ghosts gazed upon the new students with eager expressions.

“So glad to meet all of you!” the Friar cried. “I do hope to see a great many of you in Hufflepuff! That will be my house.”

“Leave off them, Friar!” the ghost called Sir Nicholas said. “Do forgive him. He gets rather overexcited about meeting new arrivals to the school. We'll leave you be until the Sorting is through. Good meeting you all!”

The ghosts were just about to leave when a rain of umbrellas and walking sticks clattered to the stone floor. All the students jumped back and screamed. Harry looked up and saw another ghost bouncing in the air above them, cackling like a mad man. When he showed up, he let out a sound similar to the air being let out of a balloon.

“Ickle firsties, ickle firsties! Youse not goin' to any Sortin' without sayin' 'Allo!' to Peeves!” the ghost cried, before he gathered up more walking sticks and launched them into the air above the students. The students scattered as the walking sticks clattered to the ground. The door flew open and Snape shouted, “What is going on here?”

The students looked up, frightened out of their wits. Hermione was the only one who had any sense to point up at Peeves. As soon as the professor saw Peeves, he instantly knew what frightened the children.

“Peeves!” shouted Snape. “Get out of here, now!”

“Peeves won't do what Snivelly Snape says!” the ghost shouted gleefully. “And he won't make Peeves do it neither!” The ghost went back to causing havoc by beating two walking sticks together as he chased two of the girls..

“Baron,” growled the professor. A gaunt ghost with chains draped all over his body and dark stains all down the front of his doublet floated forward.

Peeves went pale—well, paler than he already was. He quailed at Snape's order and the imposing presence of the gaunt ghost. He dropped the walking sticks and yammered, “No, sir, please, no, sir. Peeves will leave the li'l firsties alone. Peeves will go. Look! Peeves is already gone.”

The spirit quickly flew out of the room, leaving the first-year students bewildered. “That was Peeves, the school's poltergeist,” Snape explained. “Other ghosts abound within the school, as you can see, and there are four, such as Sir Nicholas and the Baron here, who represent each House, but Peeves is the only spirit in this school who will give you any trouble on a regular basis. Now, the Sorting awaits. All of you will form into a single queue and follow me.”

Snape held the door open and the students filed out. Harry nestled himself into the middle of the line, knowing being at the front meant everyone would gawk at him as he walked into the Great Hall. As he walked out of the room, Harry met Snape's gaze. It was a cold hard look that made Harry's blood boil as he shuffled out of the room.

As they crossed the foyer, Harry could feel the eyes of all his fellow students on him even as they made their way to the Great Hall. Entirely on impulse, Harry brushed his hair down in front of his scar. He did not want to say anything to anyone right now. He didn't want to say “Yes, I really am Harry Potter, you should be so lucky” or anything of the like. Right now, he just wanted to go through whatever it was he had to go through and officially be a student in Hogwarts.

Something grabbed his hand. When he looked down, he saw his sister's hand clasped in his. He squeezed back firmly.

Snape pushed open the doors to the Great Hall. Harry looked inside and saw four long tables occupying the hall along each side were students, all looking eagerly at the new students entering the Hall. As he looked up, Harry saw candles floating in the night sky. When he squinted, he could see the rafters in the ceiling.

“The ceiling is enchanted too look like that,” he heard Hermione say to him. “I read it in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

“Has it always been like that?” Harry asked her.

“As far as I know,” she replied.

When he came back to eye-level, he saw all the teachers, save for Snape, seated at the staff table. At the far end sat Hagrid, as bushy as ever. At the opposite end sat Quirrell, wearing his ridiculous purple turban. At the very center of the table sat a man with long silver hair and beard, wearing half moon glasses and dressed in purple robes, was Albus Dumbledore. Between Dumbledore and Hagrid was an empty seat with a tartan place setting. Whoever was sitting there hadn't shown up yet. Between Dumbledore and Quirrell were several other teachers—a short man with thinning silver hair and mustache, and a plump old woman with frizzy grey hair, respectively—that Harry didn't recognise. There was one other empty seat next to Quirrell. Harry guessed to himself that might be where Snape was sitting. Quirrell bent down to reach something on the floor. A pain shot through Harry's head, starting at his scar and spreading quickly to the rest of him. He instantly let go of Hermione's head and put his hand to his scar.

“Harry, what's the matter?” asked Hermione, most concerned.

“Nothing,” harry said as the pain receded as quickly as it erupted. “I'm okay.”

Snape came forward with a stool in one hand and something that looked like a ragged hat in the other. He set the stool down and put the hat atop it. A tear in the hat opened like a ragged mouth, and the hat began to sing in a high, reedy voice:

 

 _Something is off,_  
_Something feels strange,_  
_So much is different,  
_ _I sense a great change._

 _I know not how,_  
_Yet I still know all,_  
_Don't think for one moment,  
_ _That I've dropped the ball._

 _I will see where you are,_  
_I will know where you'll be._  
_Your future will be certain  
_ _Once you listen to me._

 _Four Houses stand within these walls,_  
_But only one will be your home._  
_There, you'll do your very best  
_ _And be remembered in our tomes._

 _Where shall you go? Which House is yours?_  
_These questions are most important._  
_What are the Houses? You might ask.  
_ _Let me be your informant._

 _You might be named a Gryffindor,_  
_Where nerve and daring reign._  
_Here, your chivalry sets you apart,  
_ _And gives you a great name._

 _In Hufflepuff, the fair and just_  
_Stay loyal to the end._  
_Here, the truly diligent  
_ _Will make the greatest friends._

 _If learning is your strong suit,_  
_Be it for duty or for leisure,_  
_Ravenclaw seeks your original wit,  
_ _For it is man's greatest pleasure._

 _And finally comes Slytherin,_  
_Where the resourceful find their ilk,_  
_If their ambition is wholehearted  
_ _And their guile is smooth as silk._

 _It is now time to Sort you all._  
_You need not feel any fright._  
_Just come on up, take a seat!  
_ _And I will place you right!_

 

Everyone in the Hall applauded as the Hat went quiet.

“That's it?” Hermione asked no one in particular. “We have to sit on a stool and wear a hat?”

“My brothers told me I'd have to fight a troll,” Harry heard Ron muttering. “I'll get them for that.”

Snape stepped forward and spoke. “First-years, when I call your name, you will come forward, take your seat here and I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head. Now, let's begin.”

“Hannah Abbott!” Snape called. A young blond girl with a pink face in pigtails came forward and sat on the stool. Snape placed the Sorting Hat on her head. There was a moment's pause before the Hat cried, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The entire Hufflepuff table shouted in joy at being the first House to get a new student.

The girl after her, Susan Bones, was the first of their year to be Sorted into Gryffindor, and the House welcomed her just as enthusiastically.

“Terry Boot!” cried Snape, and once the Hat was on his Head, it shouted “GRYFFINDOR!”

The girl after him, Mandy Brocklehurst, went to Hufflepuff by the Hat's say-so. Gryffindor welcomed Lavender Brown as its next first year, followed by Millicent Bulstrode being welcomed into Slytherin.

Harry could feel himself growing tenser by the second. He grew more and more worried about the outcome that had yet to pass. Not only for himself, but for Hermione as well. Corner and Cornfoot were sent to Ravenclaw, followed by Entwhistle.

Seamus Finnegan, the Irish boy with the sandy brown hair, was welcomed into Gryffindor. A boy named Justin Finch-Fletchley went over to the Hufflepuff table. Anthony Goldstein was sent to the Ravenclaw table.

“Hermione Granger!” Snape called out.

Harry gave her hand one final squeeze before she stepped up to the stool. Snape placed the Hat on her head. The Hat sat on her head for about thirty seconds before it cried, “RAVENCLAW!”

Hermione took off the Hat and ran to join her new housemates. Harry clapped and cheered for his sister, but on the inside, he groaned as he worried he would not be in the same House as his sister. He wondered how this would affect his relationship with her. He watched as students clad in sky blue and bronze welcomed her to her table. He just hoped he would get as good a reception as her.

The Sorting continued. Daphne Greengrass became a Slytherin. Wayne Hopkins became a Hufflepuff, as was Megan Jones.

“Neville Longbottom!” shouted Snape. Once the Hat was on Neville's head, it almost a full minute for the Hat to come to a final decision.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”cried the Hat. The Hufflepuff table cheered at their newest arrival, but the whole Hall regaled with laughter as Neville ran to the table still wearing the Sorting Hat. He had to run back to give the Hat to the next student to the next student on the list, Morag MacDougal.

“Draco Malfoy!” Snape cried. Malfoy strode up to the stool. He plopped himself onto the seat. Snape made to place the Hat on his head. It barely spent a second on his head before it cried out “SLYTHERIN!”

The Slytherin table shouted their approval as Malfoy sauntered over to the Slytherin table.

As his moment drew even closer than before, another thought crept into Harry's mind. What if he got up there and he wasn't chosen at all? He'd just sit on the stool for ages until this Snape person took the Hat from his head and told him there was a grave mistake and that he'd have to ride the train back home and never come back.

No, that couldn't happen, Harry told himself. They wouldn't do that. They wouldn't do that if they've been practically worshiping him from that war ended. All he could do now, though, was wait until Snape called his name.

Snape called student after student to their Sorting. “Moon.” A boy named Nott went to Slytherin. Padma Patil and Parvati Patil, twin girls who looked to be of Indian parentage, were sorted into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, respectively. A pug-faced girl named Pansy Parkinson got Sorted into Slytherin. As he watched Pansy sit herself beside Malfoy at the Slytherin table, Harry quickly thought they looked like an unpleasant lot and wanted to stay away from them as much as he possibly could.

Snape looked upon the list and called out the name, “Harry Potter-Granger,” sounding rather surprised at the second part of Harry's surname.

The entire Hall went deathly quiet. Every eye was fixed on Harry, and he felt the stare of every single one. He heard students whisper as he walked up, “Did he say Harry Potter?”

“It is him,” another student, one of the older girls from Ravenclaw, said. “I can see his scar.”

“What's with the Granger?” another asked.

“He's smaller than I thought he would be,” a girl from Hufflepuff said.

“Well, he's only eleven,” another girl replied.

Harry sat himself on the stool, staring out at the Great Hall, but not at anyone in particular, not even Hermione or Ron. Snape put the hat on his head. The brim fell over his eyes and blocked the rest of his view. Once the hat was firmly in place on his head, Harry heard a voice speaking within his mind.

“ _Oh, my_ ,” the voice said. “ _This is a challenge. Plenty of courage about you. Noble, almost to a fault. Very loyal, but only somewhat fair. Hard worker too, but only on your favourite subjects. It shan't be Helga's house for you. A badger toils over everything, not just what it loves most in life. Studious, but again only on your favourite subjects. Sharp wit, just not as sharp as a razor. You'll not fly like an eagle, I'm afraid. But, talent abounds, oh yes. What's this? Oh... You have a strong desire to prove yourself, or at least to prove you're more than just your legend. That's very interesting. So, where shall I put you?_ ”

“Not Slytherin...” Harry thought.

“ _Not Slytherin?_ ” asked the voice. “ _Are you so sure?_ ”

“Not Slytherin... Not Slytherin...” Harry repeated again and again.

“ _You could be great, you know_ ,” the voice told him. “ _I can see it all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness. All the best leaders went there and were all the better for it._ ”

“I will not be in the same House as that man,” growled Harry.

“ _Oh, him_ ,” the voice said. “ _Yes, I understand why you wouldn't want to be there if he had anything to do with it. But, I must say, you shouldn't judge a whole tree for making just one bad apple._ ”

“I will not set foot in the same House as my parents' killer,” Harry said. “I'd rather run away or die than be like him.”

“ _I can see you are set in your ways_ ,” the voice said in a most resigned manner. “ _I shan't try to sway you any more. That said, there is only one place to put you..._ ”

The hat shouted out to the Great Hall, “ _GRYFFINDOR!_ ”

There was a split second of silence, before the whole of the Gryffindor table erupted in jubilation. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables applauded politely. He caught sight of Hermione applauding more excitedly than the rest of the Ravenclaws. The Slytherin table sneered at the lot of them. As Snape took off the Sorting Hat, Harry walked to the Gryffindor table in something of a daze. Everyone welcomed him ecstatically, beaming at the fact that they would be in the same House as him. Harry's joy soured slightly at the sight of Snape sneering at Harry and the Gryffindors. Those thoughts were pushed aside as the Weasley twins tousled his hair playfully before shouting “We got Potter!” over and over. Several other students joined in the chant until the entire Gryffindor table was shouting it.

“Silence, please!” Dumbledore shouted. The whole of the Great Hall quieted themselves in an instant. “Gryffindors, your excitement is most understandable. However, do contain whatever excitement you have left, as we have the last of our first-years to sort.”

The Gryffindor table sat and quieted themselves again, and the Sorting resumed.

Oliver Rivers went to Hufflepuff, while Zacharias Smith became a Ravenclaw. A black boy named Dean Thomas who looked even taller than Ron was Sorted into Gryffindor and the Gryffindors welcomed him joyously. A girl named Lisa Turpin went to Ravenclaw.

“Ronald Weasley!” Snape called. Ronald walked up to the stool very timidly. He looked almost pale green now, like he'd get sick at any moment. He plopped himself onto the seat and Snape put the Hat on his head. It took about ten seconds before the Hat cried, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The Gryffindors clapped and hooted their approval of their new housemate. Harry could see his new friend was relieved to have been confirmed into the House all his family was part of. The twins welcomed their younger brother in a very proud manner, though they sounded like they were doing so in a joking way. “Well done, Ronald,” Percy said to him.

The last student to be Sorted was another tall black boy named Blaise Zabini who was Sorted into Slytherin. Once Zabini was seated with the other Slytherins, Dumbledore stood and shouted to the Great Hall, “Well, now that we have the Sorting out of the way, I have four words for all of you: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“And now, here are two more: Tuck in!”

The platters instantly filled up with food. Harry had never seen so much food in his entire life, not even when his mother prepared dinner for Christmas and Easter. Up and down the table, Harry saw plates of roast beef, roast chicken, steak, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages of all sizes, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, fried potatoes, buttered peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, mustard, applesauce, Yorkshire pudding, dinner rolls, and every so often, a tiny bowl of peppermint humbugs. Pitchers filled themselves with water, milk, and what looked like pumpkin juice.

Harry very quickly dug in, serving himself up a plate of pork chops, mashed potatoes, and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. As everyone else was eating, the ghost known as Sir Nicholas floated over everyone, gazing at the feast with a longing expression.

“That does look good,” the ghost said, almost to himself.

“Can't you—” Harry began, before the ghost answered.

“I've haven't eaten for over four hundred years, but one does miss it from time to time. I don't believe I've introduced myself—”

“I know who you are,” Ron said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “You're Nearly Headless Nick.”

“Ron,” Percy chastised his brother. “His proper title is Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Show some respect. He's our House ghost. And don't talk with your mouth full.”

The ghost corrected Percy. “Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower, to be more precise. But, all the same, I would prefer Sir Nicholas if you don't mind.”

“Wait, 'Nearly Headless?'” asked Susan Bones. “How can you be _nearly_ headless?”

“Oh, no,” muttered Percy.

With great indignation, Sir Nicholas faced Susan and said, “Like so.”

Sir Nicholas tugged on his left ear. His head swung onto his shoulder, dangling on a strand of long-past skin and sinew. It was apparent someone had tried to decapitate him, but left the deed unfinished. Susan and several other new Gryffindors screamed in shock of Sir Nicholas's display. The ghost floated away to join the Bloody Baron.

“I really wish he wouldn't do that at the feast every year,” Percy said, poking a few carrots about his plate.

When all the students had had their fill of dinner, the food faded from the plates. It was soon replaced with dessert. Platters bore blocks of ice cream of every possible flavour, all kinds of pies and cakes, strawberries and peaches and so many other fruits, bread pudding, rice pudding, chocolate eclairs, jam doughnuts, tarts, trifles, custards, and chocolate biscuits.

As the students and staff began to eat, discussion at the Gryffindor delved int everyone's family lives.

“I'm half and half,” Seamus said to his new Housemates. “Me dad's a Muggle. Mam's a witch. Dad didn't find out til after they got married. Bit of a shock for him when he found out.”

The other students laughed.

“What about you, Harry?” Dean Thomas asked. “What are your parents like?”

“Don't you know, man?” asked Seamus. “His parents got killed by You-Know-Who.”

“I know that,” Dean replied. “I meant the people that raised him after that.”

“Well, my father is a police officer,” said Harry. Everyone except Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan had quizzical expressions on their faces. Harry explained, “He works in the Muggle equivalent of law enforcement.”

“Wait, Muggles have laws?” asked Susan Bones.

“Everyone has their own rules,” Harry replied. “Is it so surprising that Muggles have their own?”

“What does your mother do?” Susan asked.

“My mum is a nurse who works in intensive care,” adding after another confused look, “Muggle healer.” Again, everyone save for Dean and Seamus nodded their heads in understanding.

Dean went on to explain how his mum and dad were surprised that he turned out to be a wizard. It was a shock to both parents to find that their son could disappear from a crosswalk where he was nearly flattened by an inattentive driver in his wayward Citroen one second, and standing at the doors to the grocer's market where he and his mother were headed the next. His parents were just as surprised as he was at what had happened, but both grateful and impressed at their son's newfound potential. The next day, Dean got his letter to Hogwarts and both parents signed him up to learn magic.

Dean's story impressed everybody. Harry was about to ask Ron more about his family life when the pain in his forehead started up again. It didn't last too long, so he didn't have to explain it away too awkwardly. He got everyone to believe it was his bowl of rocky road ice cream that gave him a headache.

Harry looked at the staff table, specifically at where Professor Snape sat, next to Quirrell, who had reached under the table to pick up a fork. The professor was apparently in conversation with Quirrell, though Quirrell looked as though he rather make haste for the train and be rid of Snape. Harry didn't really know Snape, but he could sympathise with Quirrell.

“Percy,” Harry asked the prefect, “what can you tell me about Professor Snape?”

After a glance in the direction of the staff table, Percy answered Harry. “Professor Snape is Head of Slytherin House.

“He teaches Potions, doesn't he?”

“He does, but everyone knows it's the Defence post he wants more than anything. Every year, he tries to get it, but Dumbledore always says to him he best serves the school where he is now.”

“Is that true?”

“I should say so. I don't think my marks for Potions would be half of what they are if not for him.”

Soon, the desserts faded away like the dinner. A tinkling of metal on glass turned everyone's heads to the staff table. Professor Dumbledore stood with his glass of wine in his hand. He smiled at everyone, took one last sip before setting his glass back down, and addressed the assembly.

“Now that we are all fed and watered,” Professor Dumbledore cried, “I have several announcements that need be made for this forthcoming term.

“First-years, do take note that the forests on the school grounds are forbidden to all pupils. And before I forget, a few of our older students had better take note of that as well.”

Dumbledore's mustache twitched with a smile as he glanced with his twinkling eyes at the Weasley twins. The twins chuckled under their breath.

“Our castle caretaker, Mr Filch, has asked me to remind all students that magic is not to be used between classes within the corridors, and has provided a list of all Magical items that are not permitted within the school under any circumstances.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House team should inform Madam Hooch as quickly as possible. On an additional note, the school governors have decided that first-years are hereby permitted to play for their teams—” The Headmaster was cut off by the first-year students crying out in joy. Harry could see Malfoy slapping the Slytherin table with his palm and shouting in glee at the announcement.

“Provided,” shouted the headmaster, quieting the students, “Provided that they have approval from their parents, from their Head of House, and that they pass Madam Hooch's flying test. And, lastly, naturally, provided that you make the team.”

The Headmaster continued. “I must also speak of two things all of you are curious about. You are no doubt wondering why Professor Snape took over the role our Deputy Headmistress normally plays in every year's Sorting. This is unfortunately because of Professor McGonagall's attack.”

The school erupted into a frenzied murmur of surprise. “Professor McGonagall was attacked, as I had said. However, after a truly necessary and deserved period of recuperation, she will return to her duties tomorrow. Believe me, it will take a lot more to keep her from teaching her students. But, I urge all of you to send her your best wishes or regards.

Dumbledore continued, “And for the final announcement, I must inform you all that, for this year only, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly out of bounds. Should you not want to die a most painful death, I strongly recommend that you stay away from it as often as possible.”

A murmur grew from the students as they looked amongst each other, bewildered and confused.

"He's joking, right?" asked Dean.

"Usually, that would be a joke," answered Percy. "But, he sounds serious. You would do well to heed that advice."

Despite the confused reaction from the student body, Dumbledore continued, “And now, before all of us turn in for the night, it is high time for all of us to join together and sing the Hogwarts school song.”

All the students stood up just as the faculty did. The headmaster waved his wand and words in golden script appeared floating in mid-air. As the words appeared, the entire school bellowed:

 

“ _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_  
_Teach us something, please,_  
_Whether we be old or bald,_  
_Or young with scabby knees._  
_Our heads could do with filling_  
_With some interesting stuff,_  
_For now they're bare and full of air,_  
_Dead flies and bits of fluff._  
_So teach us things worth knowing,_  
_Bring back what we've forgot,_  
_Just do your best, we'll do the rest  
_ _And learn until our brains all rot.”_

 

Dumbledore smiled as everyone came to a finish. “Ah, music! A magic well above and beyond what we learn within these walls. I welcome you all once more and wish you good night, and good learning for the rest of this year!”

Percy and other prefects led the other students out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs felt as heavy as lead, but only because he was so tired and had had so much to eat. His tired state made him less surprised to find the portraits and paintings that lined the walls moved and spoke, and that every one of them pointed at him and whispered to each other when they passed. Percy led the students through doors hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They trudged onward through the castle. Harry wondered how much farther they had to go, until they came to a stop at a portrait of a very fat woman wearing a pink silk dress.

“Password, if you please?” asked the woman.

“ _Caput Draconis_ ,” answered Percy.

The woman smiled warmly as the portrait swung forward, revealing a round hole in the wall. Everyone scrambled through one at a time. Inside was a common room decorated entirely in scarlet and gold. Plush armchairs and a sofa sat in front of a roaring fireplace that bathed the entire area in a warm, flickering orange light. Percy showed the girls to the door leading to their dormitories and the boys to theirs.

After climbing a spiral staircase, Harry, Ron, and everyone else arrived in their dormitory. Everyone had their own four-poster bed draped with scarlet sheets and velvet hangings trimmed with gold. Their trunks had been brought up and set at the foot of each bed. All five boys were so full and tired, they said nothing as they pulled on their pyjamas. They practically fell straight to sleep when they hit the mattresses. Their sleep was interrupted only by Ron chiding Scabbers for chewing on the bedsheets. After that, everyone fell into a deep sleep.

*****HPG*****

_The hallways were quiet. The torches on the walls guttered and gave a warm glow every few feet. Something didn't feel right. He shouldn't be out here. Why was he out here? Hadn't he just fallen asleep? Harry stood in the halls, confused. He should be lying in bed, not out here._

_When he looked to his left, he saw a shadow dashing off down the corridor. Harry wanted to find his way back to the Gryffindor common room, but something inside him impelled him to follow this figure, whoever they may be._

_“Treasure...” a raspy voice whispered in the darkness. Harry looked around frantically but found no one nearby._

_As he dashed down the corridor and rounded a corner, Harry came upon a tall plain mirror, square in the middle of the hallway. In it, he saw himself dressed in the robes of Professor Snape, but with his head wrapped in Professor Quirrell's stupid purple turban. As he looked down and felt his head, he found out the reflection was real. Harry was dressed as two of his new teachers. He tried to take off the turban, but it constricted around his head._

_“You belong in Slytherin...” the reflection said with a smirk. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he glared at this mirror self. The Harry in the mirror laughed at his other self's revulsion. Harry slammed his fist into the mirror. Cracks appeared from where he hit it and spread across the surface, making a spiderweb of crevices that, all too soon, brought down the looking glass into a pile of shards no bigger than a satsuma. When he looked up, he saw the Headmaster standing in front of him, smiling warmly and pointing his wand right at Harry's chest._

_“Your place in our school is secure,” the Headmaster said, before the green light shot forth from his wand. Harry saw the Headmaster change into a different man, a man with no hair, skin as white as porcelain, and eyes as red as garnets. The man let out a high cold laugh as the green light blinded and washed over Harry—_

*****HPG*****

Harry shot awake, his breath frantic, his heartbeat more so. He shivered as though a winter draft blew through the room. He looked around the room. No one else was awake, not even Ron's ancient pet rat. After he scribbled down every detail of the dream he had just experienced and tucked the journal away again, Harry fell back onto his pillow. He lay awake for a while before his eyelids fell shut and drifted off to sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I owe you all a big fat apology for such a long lack of updates. Many things took place between the last update and this newest one (taking on second job, moving into new apartment, etc.) I did not forget to keep writing this fic, or forget to write in general. It's just I've been either so exhausted or so preoccupied that updating was a low priority compared to everyday life. I am polishing up a lot of things about this story (updates to past chapters coming, btw) and am wondering if I should just delete the story and re-upload it.
> 
> In the meantime, I hope this new chapter is a welcome surprise for all of you. Thank you all for continuing to follow the story. Keep an eye out for future updates.


	9. The Door to the Underworld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Nine  
**The Door to the Underworld**

 

“Look, there he is,” he heard a boy from Ravenclaw say.

Harry didn't get much sleep after waking up from the previous night's dream. He may have gotten only an hour or two after rolling in bed for another two, but that was all. And now, he had to come downstairs to hear to the other kids in the school gawk at him and whisper about him while he pretended not to listen.

All the while, he and Hermione were writing letters to their parents while Hedwig nibbled on a crust of toast that Harry handed her. When they were done, and when Hedwig was done with a piece of bacon Ron gave her, she took the letters and flew out of the Great Hall along with all the other owls that came for the morning post.

“Go over there and talk to him,” a Hufflepuff boy said to another.

“You go over, if you want to so badly,” the second boy snapped back.

Harry turned back to the bowl of porridge he had left of his breakfast.

“Isn't there something more important they could talk about?” Harry asked no one in particular.

“They're in the same school as a living legend,” Ron replied. “What else could they talk about that is just as important?”

“Maybe their own lives?”

“It will die down, Harry,” said Hermione. “Once the other kids see you're just another kid trying to get his education, they'll understand.”

That statement didn't happen right away, and the gawking certainly didn't stop at the Great Hall. All week, the other students would stop, point at him, and murmur among themselves, most likely about him. It became irritating very quickly. For the most part, they would leave him alone, but a few would follow him in-between his classes, probably building up the courage to come up and speak to him. He would have, if they had just done it, rather than just lurk about and spy on him.

During one break between classes, a group of third-years followed him down a staircase Harry found hidden behind a tapestry. Harry had taken this path to avoid them and everyone else, but much to his dismay, they had followed him. To his surprise, as he went down the stairs, he set foot on the seventh step from the bottom and his foot plummeted through it. His book bag flew to the bottom. Harry struggled to pull himself out while the other students stood agog at his predicament. He asked them for help. The third-years spent much of the next few minutes arguing about who should get to help him out.

Luckily for Harry, the Weasley twins were about to head up the stairs as well. Seeing Harry's unfortunate position, they pulled him out and sent him on his way, with promise of a guided tour about Hogwarts, for five Galleons (eight, if he wanted to see all the parts off-limits to the students).

The castle itself was so large that Harry and all the other first-year students got lost very frequently. There were so many staircases—some narrow; some wide; several that went in opposite directions; others that led a different way every other day; some with a trick step that you would fall through if you stepped on it, like Harry had experienced before—and doorways of all types—normal doors; doors that were behind a tapestry; doors that were concealed as brick and mortar; doors that wouldn't open unless you tickle them in the right spot; doors that were just pretending to be doors—that they couldn't help but lose sense of where they were in the school.

The ghosts didn't help with his loss of directions. Whenever he tried to open a door, one would float through and startle Harry so much that he lost sense of where he needed to go. Only Sir Nicholas was any help to Harry, pointing him in the right direction whenever he could. And then there was Peeves. The poltergeist would pop up at any moment and scare whoever came near him or even so much as glanced in his general vicinity. He suspected that even some of the suits of armour moved about the castle of their on free will.

The one person who gave Harry the most grief was Mr Filch. The castle's caretaker, one never knew where Mr Filch would pop up from anywhere and try to send any student straight to detention for whatever reason he saw fit. It seemed that he knew the halls of Hogwarts better than anyone, though Harry suspected the Weasley twins knew even more. Always following Filch was his beloved pet cat, Mrs Norris. While she was nowhere near as bad Filch was, many students often wished they could give that cat a swift kick in the rear.

As much as he expected the teachers to refrain from reacting to him being there, a few of them couldn't help themselves. Professor Flitwick, when taking the roll call, came upon Harry's name, let out a little squeak and toppled backward off his podium. Professor Sprout, the Herbology instructor, nearly set a shrub on fire when she saw him in person for the first time. Thankfully, the fire was put out quickly and the lesson went on.

The classes were just as Harry and Hermione expected they would be. Most of them were, anyway. Herbology was essentially gardening for Wizards. History of Magic was as boring as anyone would have expected. Probably the only exciting moment was when Professor Binns, who was a ghost, floated through the blackboard at the front of the class. When he started teaching, all he did was read the text from their textbook, droning out all the pertinent facts and dates in a truly boring tone of voice without looking up at the students or calling on anyone to read any passage or answer a question. He didn't even ask any questions.

Naturally, all the students in class were bored out of their minds and more than a fair few drifted off as Professor Binns mumbled through the textbook open before him. The only person who didn't show any sign of boredom was Hermione, who diligently copied everything Professor Binns said word for word, even though all Professor Binns did was read directly from the textbook.

The one class that was an outright disappointment to Harry was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Everyone had been looking forward to it, but it soon became apparent that this class was not at all going to be as exciting as anyone had hoped. The classrooms reeked of garlic. Strands of it festooned the entire place. Harry heard from Fred & George that it was to ward off a vampire he had crossed at some point in Romania. They said he kept it in his turban wherever he went as well. Professor Quirrell recited numerous anecdotes in his tremulous, stuttering voice. He even told everyone his turban was a gift from a village in West Africa for stopping a particularly troublesome zombie. When someone asked him for the details, like which village it was and what type of zombie, he trailed off and made some vague statement about the weather.

Naturally, everyone was more than ready to leave and move on to the next day's classes.

*****HPG*****

The next day was when when they had their most anticipated classes, Transfiguration and Potions.

Everyone was looking forward to Transfiguration. Thankfully for them, unlike Defence, no one went away disappointed. Exhausted, maybe, but not disappointed.

Harry and Hermione wondered if Professor McGonagall would appear for the class. That thought was on everyone else's mind as well.

“Do you think Professor McGonagall is going to show up?” asked Ron.

“I hope so,” Harry replied.

“I just hope she's in good health after what happened,” said Hermione.

Sure enough, a door off to the side opened and Professor McGonagall walked into the classroom. She was slightly more wan than Harry remembered her being, and she walked with a wooden cane in hand, but apart from that, she didn't appear as though she suffered any injury at all.

She gave the students a prim “Good morning,” before she conducted the role call for the class. To Harry's relief, she didn't make a great deal over his being there. _Maybe she got that out of her system when we first met_ , Harry thought, _though she doesn't seem like the sort of person that gets overly excited, even when the occasion calls for it_. Once the roll call was done, she addressed the class. “No doubt you all are hoping to learn to do amazing things with magic so you can change one thing into another. But, know this. This is perhaps the most focus-intensive branch of Magic there is. One wrong word, one wrong flick of the wrist, can undo so many hours of work and put your life in danger. I assure you, I will not have any misbehaving or tomfoolery in my class. Either you do exactly as I tell you, or I will show you out of my class. Do that enough times and I will see to it you are no longer a student here. Have I made myself clear?”

Each and every student gave a nervous nod of their head. With that, the professor removed a box from her coat pocket. She opened it and pulled out a handful of matches. She walked to each desk and set a matchstick in front of each student.

“This will be your first assignment,” she told all of them. “You will change a matchstick into a needle. This is much more difficult than it appears and you will not accomplish it within the time of this class. Now, get to work.”

Just as Professor McGonagall had said, changing a matchstick into a needle was much more challenging than he had expected. A lot of the other students had trouble as well. Many of them swore under their breath as they made multiple attempts, all of them fruitless. Halfway through the class, only Hermione showed actual success, as her matchstick appeared slimmer, much more metallic and pointed. Harry's still had the match head but was pointed metal at the other end.

At the end of the class, McGonagall told them, “I see good progress to be made here. You will read chapter one of your text and write a summary on the theory for the next class. Good day.”

The class got up and filed out of the room. Harry stayed behind and approached the professor, who sat at her desk, reassessing the class's work.

“Professor?” Harry asked her. The professor looked up, surprised that Harry was still around.

“Ah, Mr Potter,” she said. “Your work today was satisfactory. You were one of the best in the class, second only to your sister. I expect you to put your all into this class from here on out. Understood?”

“I will, Professor,” Harry said, before going back to the topic he wanted to speak to her about. He told her, “Professor, I just wanted to say Hermione and I are glad you're all right. We only heard about the attack yesterday. We feel terrible not knowing about it sooner.”

The professor gave Harry a courteous nod of her head. “I appreciate your sentiments, Mr Potter. Thank you for expressing them in person.”

Harry turned away before he decided to say something else to her. “Professor?”

“Yes, Mr Potter?”

“If it's not too much trouble, I would prefer it if you'd call me Granger.”

McGonagall gave him a queer look, before Harry continued, “I know it sounds strange to hear me ask that. It's just, I feel more like myself being called that. Everyone else in this school can call me Potter if they wanted to. But, in Gryffindor, I'd prefer people calling me Granger.”

She regarded him shrewdly, but quickly assented to his wishes. “I will remember that from now on,” she respectfully told him, adding, “Now, get to lunch...Mister Granger.”

Harry felt a little better hearing her calling him that. He was very glad she took his preference of surnames to heart so readily. Harry smiled and left again.

*****HPG*****

Harry joined Ron and Susan for lunch. Both of his friends looked gloomy as he arrived.

“What's got you two looking so bad?”

“We've all got Potions next,” Ron said, in a baleful way.

“Everything I hear about Snape makes me want to set myself on fire,” said Susan.

“Word is, if you did that, he would dock you points for not showing up, and for wasting his time,” said Ron, adding as an afterthought, “and probably for not putting a fire to good use.”

“Come on, he can't be all bad,” Harry asked.

“He took ten points away from Percy for studying ahead of everyone else,” Ron told him. “In what possible way is that fair?”

“He can't be as bad as you say,” said Harry, but then he remembered how Snape had reacted to his arriving at Hogwarts on the 1 st  of September.

“I wouldn't play up you being who you are,” Susan advised him.

“That's the last thing I want,” Harry replied.

For as much as Harry supposed that Snape disliked him, he was sorely mistaken. Snape didn't dislike Harry. He outright detested Harry.

The classroom was down in the dungeons of the castle. It was already creepy enough as they went down to the dungeons, what with that entire part of the castle being so dark and dank Harry felt like they had stepped back into medieval times. Once they arrived at Snape's classroom, it felt a million times creepier. The walls were lined with jars of all colours, each one with something dead floating in it.

Snape swept into the room, glowering at all of them. He began his class as Professor Flitwick had, with a roll call. As he called the names of everyone in class, he came upon Harry's name and smirked.

“Ah, Mr Potter! So glad you thought this class was worth your time to attend.”

The Slytherins sniggered at their professor's snide comment. Harry just sat with his hands balled up into fists, concealing his anger. Snape finished the roll call and stowed the parchment away.

Snape began, reverently, “You are here to learn the mysterious and subtle art that is potion making. There will be no foolish wand-waving or any ridiculous incantations in my class. Because my class lacks those things, I do not expect many of you to understand fully just how important this subject can be, and is. But, those of you who do grasp its importance, you are gifted. You have the potential to brew fame. You can bottle glory. You may even be able to put a stopper in death itself.”

The reverent tone disappeared, as he added, “That is, if you aren't the gaggle of morons I have been led to believe you are. But, in a poor attempt to assuage my doubts, we shall have a quiz to see just what knowledge on the subject you currently possess, if any.”

Rolls of parchment flew from Snape's desk onto the desks of each child. The rolls unfurled themselves to reveal five pages of questions, fifteen on each page with a space between each for answers.

“You will have thirty minutes to finish,” said the professor. “You will start...now!”

The professor turned over an hourglass. As the sand descended to the bottom bulb, the students hurried to show their teacher they weren't a moron. Harry glanced at each question and felt his stomach growing heavy with worry.

All too soon, the thirty minutes was up.

“Quills down, ink bottles away,” said Snape. As he waved a hand, the parchment flew back to him. He sat at the desk and perused each paper, setting each one aside as if it he had just read a toddler's attempt at Shakespeare. Snape got to one test and shot a mean glare in Harry's direction. He set that test off to the side and returned to checking the rest of the tests. Once he was done, he passed the tests back to the class. When Harry realised he hadn't gotten his test back, he knew what was about to happen. It felt like he had swallowed a pound of lead.

“Your results are exactly what I expected from the lot of you,” the professor called to everyone. “Let us review the answers.”

He picked up Harry's test and flared it out as if he were about to read it aloud to the whole class.  In fact, he did.

“Potter!” Snape called. Harry's head shot up in panic.

“Sir?”

“For the first question, 'What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?', what was your answer?”

“I wrote that they're the same plant, sir.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yes, sir. I've also heard people refer to it as aconite.”

Snape glowered at him and scribbled something on his test.

“For the next question, “Were a man stranded in the middle of nowhere, and in need of a bezoar, where first should he look?', what was your answer, Potter?”

“You should look for a herd of goats,” Harry said simply. The class laughed at his answer. Snape, however, regarded Harry shrewdly.

“Silence,” Snape said almost inaudibly. The class instantly quieted. “Explain your reasoning, if you please, Potter.”

“Well,” Harry explained. “A bezoar is a stone found in a goat's stomach. If you're in need of one right away, and stranded as well, you'd be better off trying to find the source more than anything.”

“And what does a bezoar do, Potter?”

“I think it's an ingredient in antidotes,” he said uncertainly.

“You think or you know?”

“No, it _is_ an ingredient in antidotes.”

“Very good,” Snape said. The teacher's eyes showed he was rather impressed by Harry's answer, though the teacher's face remained impassive. “But, you didn't write that down on the test, so you only earn half marks.”

Harry groaned inwardly, but did his best not to show it to his teacher. It went on like that, with Snape picking apart each of Harry's answers and belittling him if he didn't know it or didn't write down the entire answer on the parchment.

Finally, Snape got to the final question on the quiz. He asked, “'If one were to add powdered root of asphodel into an infusion of wormwood, what would the end product be?', you wrote down, 'I don't know.' Did you really not know, or was this just a way for you to appear to be a normal person?”

Asphodel and wormwood... He'd read about that potion somewhere. He just couldn't remember exactly what the end result was. So, he decided he had to answer truthfully.

“I don't know, sir,” admitted Harry.

“Well, surely, you must have some idea.”

“I thought it might have something to do with sleep, but I wasn't all that certain.”

“Then why not write that down, Potter?”

“Like I said, sir, I couldn't be certain, so I thought it best to be honest.”

“Well, your guess was at least on the right path. Powdered asphodel mixed into a wormwood infusion produces a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known throughout the Wizarding World as the Draught of Living Death.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation. How could he have forgotten about the Draught of Living Death? He and Hermione had talked about it in fascination for nearly ten minutes when they first studied their Potions books.

“Mr Potter scored a 76 on this test,” Snape said to the class, brutally marking the test with a quill dipped in red ink. “And that, class, is your first lesson: Fame isn't everything.” The Slytherins sniggered at Snape's remarks.

Snape scribbled one last thing on Harry's test and let the parchment fall in front of Harry. When he looked down, Harry saw the score scrawled and circled next to a sentence in the same red ink: “It was foolish to expect so much from the Boy Who Lived.”

Snape looked out upon the class and said in a more vociferous way, “Now, here is your second lesson: if I say something important or pertinent to this class, you write all of it down, word for word.” Growling, he added, “So, can any of you tell me why not one of you has written anything I said while we went over these questions?”

The class quickly began scrawling everything Snape had said, to the best of their memory.

“Ravenclaws, take note. Your housemate, Miss Granger, had the highest score in the class, though it is painfully evident that she parroted every one of her answers from the text. I expect you to put your answers into your own words from now on, Ms Granger.”

“Yes, Professor,” said Hermione, dejected after her victory.

“All the same...five points to Ravenclaw,” the professor said. “Hufflepuff, your housemate, Mr Longbottom, had the lowest score. As such, you lose five points.”

The announcement turned everyone's heads to see Neville moping at Snape's words. Harry felt the bile rise in his throat as the professor slammed a book down on his desk.

“It is abundantly clear that none of you are up to the standards I expect of you all,” he growled. “That said, if we have to start someplace, we will start with the most painfully simple potion that anyone can make, even the most simple-minded wizard. Open your books to page ten.”

The whole class, even Harry, Hermione, and Neville, complied with the professor's order. Books hit tables, pages rustled as the students scrambled to get to page ten and not incense Snape any more than he already was.

“You are to brew the Potion to Cure Boils,” said Snape. “You have thirty minutes to complete it. It should not take you any longer than that. When you are done, raise your hand and I shall check your work. Start, now.”

Cauldrons clattered and phials clinked as all the students set up their stations. Harry got his set up first and quickly read off the list of ingredients. It certainly wasn't complicated at all, compared to the other potions Harry saw in the textbook. He began cooking the ingredients, paying close attention to flame his cauldron sat over, making certain it got neither too cool nor too hot. He crushed snake fangs and weighed dried nettles, focusing entirely on the task at hand. Snape swept about the dungeon, criticising everyone, especially Harry. That was, everyone except for Malfoy, who he seemed to favour. Harry found it hard to believe that Snape could favour anyone, let alone Malfoy. But, he was, and he gloated to the other students over how Malfoy stewed his horned slugs to perfection.

Just as he said that, clouds of acid green smoke spewed out of Neville's cauldron. The entire class jumped up on their stools in right as they saw Neville's cauldron melt into an amorphous blob. Neville was covered in his botched potion. He screamed and his skin broke out with horrible red boils. Snape waved his wand. The potion covering the floor and Neville disappeared, as did the smoke clouding the entire room.

“Idiot boy!” Snape cursed. “I suppose you added the quills before you turned off the flame. Brocklehurst, take him to the hospital wing.”

The Hufflepuff girl took her housemate out of the classroom, Neville whimpering weakly as they left.

“Potter!” Snape shouted, rounding on Harry. “Why didn't you tell Longbottom not to add the quills? Did you think you could make yourself look better than him?”

Harry had a bad feeling that no matter what he said to Snape, the professor would use that against him. So, Harry answered, “I was focused on my own work, Professor. I wasn't paying attention to what Neville was doing.”

“Why on earth not?” Snape shouted.

“Because I didn't want to mess my potion up, sir,” Harry replied. “I want to do well in this class.”

Snape fumed at Harry's answer. Squinting with rage, the potions master growled, “Five points from Gryffindor for your carelessness, Potter. And another five for your cheek.”

Harry was about to yell at the unfairness of it all before Ron grabbed his shoulder and whispered, “Don't make him any angrier. He can get really nasty.”

Harry collapsed back in his seat, upset at being humiliated and being stripped of points just because Snape wanted to take him down a peg. The rest of the class went by without any other interruption. Harry kept his head down, focusing on the last part of his potion. He could feel Snape's eyes on him, expecting the professor to take any opportunity to rob Gryffindor of any more points.

The students left the class grumbling about how horrible Snape was to everyone. Well, everyone except the Slytherin students. They muttered about how he treated Harry and Hermione and Neville.

“It was just unfair how he singled you out,” Hermione said to Harry. “We ought to bring a complaint to the Headmaster.”

“And make things worse?” replied Harry. “I have a bad feeling that he would treat me worse than today, Hermione.”

“You can't leave this alone, Harry,” she told him.

“And I can't let people to think I'm just some tattle-tale. Besides, it sounds as though this is commonplace. Everyone has said that Snape favours Slytherin above all the other Houses.”

“That's no excuse,” Hermione snapped. “We shouldn't have to put up with this just because of some stupid bias.”

The argument ended once they entered the Great Hall.

“If you won't say anything about it, I will,” she told him. “And you can be certain I'll be heard.”

With that, she stalked off to her table, leaving him feeling like he wasn't standing up for her at all. He knew, however, he couldn't do so all the time. He wasn't certain he could stop her from confronting this issue. He would stand up for her if Professor Snape tried to humiliate her in class, if it ever came to that. The only thing he could do now was go and have supper.

*****HPG*****

That night, the students had their first Astronomy lesson, and it too was just as Harry and Hermione thought it would be. The entire class was just looking through their telescopes and writing down naked-eye observations of the night-sky and the objects their teacher, Professor Sinestra, told them to find.

The argument they had regarding Professor Snape still hung about them, but they focused solely on their observations. Neville had been released from the hospital wing by Madam Pomfrey, the school's healer, shortly after supper ended. His skin was still red from the potion, but he was there at the lesson, diligently scribbling everything he saw, and rather cheerful despite what had happened.

Professor Sinestra rattled off several pertinent facts until Hermione asked, “Professor, why is Astronomy such an important subject in Magic?”

The professor looked her square in the eye and replied, “The movement of the stars and planets affect many magical spells, objects, and planets, my dear. If someone does not pay close attention to those details, there could be some serious consequences. Therefore, it is important to know where the Sun, Moon, stars and planets are in the sky, relative to where a witch or wizard on the planet, day or night.”

The rest of the class went on without interruption, not any intended one, anyway. The only other interruption came about when Neville accidentally turned his telescope into something resembling a laser.

The class ended about an hour later. Everyone filed down from the top of the Astronomy Tower and back into their Houses. Harry, Ron and Susan walked downstairs, followed by Hermione and Neville. Hermione stopped them and took them all aside to an alcove just off to the right of the stairs.

“We ought to start a study group,” she said to the other kids.

“Hermione, can't this wait until tomorrow morning?” said Harry.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “We need to get to bed.”

All the other kids filed past until they were the only ones left. “Look, we can be the best ones in our class if we get this organised right now,” Hermione told all of them.

“Fine, we'll do it,” said Susan, in a rather exasperated tone. “Can we please get to our beds now?”

“Yeah, that homework from McGonagall sounds really difficult,” said Neville. “And I'm really tired.”

“All right, fine,” Hermione said. “We'll talk about the rest of this tomorrow. Let's get back to our Houses.”

They went down the stairs. There was no indication of where the other kids had gone. Nor was their any way of knowing which way they ought to go.

“Come on,” said Harry. “Let's try to find our way back to our Houses.”

The five students began their walk to their Houses. All too soon, though, they found themselves lost in the school. Even worse, they were out alone at night and out of bed. They had to regain their bearings and get to their Houses as soon as possible.

“The staircases should be close,” said Hermione. Harry believed her, even though she sounded unsure of herself.

“You're certain?” asked Susan, obviously not as confident in Hermione's sense of direction as Harry was. It felt like they had been wandering the halls for ages before they came to a hallway, dimly lit by widely spaced torches.

As they walked down the hallway, Harry felt a strong sense of worry at their situation. Harry had a feeling they shouldn't be here. Well, obviously, they shouldn't be there. They should've been back in bed, instead of here. But, something about this place made Harry feel like he shouldn't be here even during the day.

“What part of the school is this?” Ron asked no one in particular.

“I don't know,” Neville replied. “I've never been to this part before.”

“I know where we are,” said Susan. “This is the third-floor corridor, the one they said we weren't allowed to go into.”

“We have to get out of here,” Hermione cried.

The cry of an animal turned their heads. It was a meow. The children looked behind them to see a cat sitting on its haunches, glaring at the lot of them.

“Oh, no! That's Missus Norris!” Ron shouted.

“Run!” Harry cried. All five kids ran in the opposite direction as the cat. Mrs Norris slinked after them, never taking her eyes off of them. The kids reached a door at the far end of the corridor. Neville struggled to open it, but it wouldn't budge.

“It's locked!” he shouted.

“Stand aside!” Hermione yelled. With a wave of her wand, she cried, “ _Alohomora!_ ”

The door's deadbolt clicked and the door opened only a crack. Harry shoved it open and dashed inside. Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Susan followed him. Mrs Norris dashed away from them, yowling to anyone who would hear her.

As they shut the door, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him as they closed the door. Filch wouldn't catch them, nor would Mrs Norris lead him to them.

Harry's relief, however, soon turned into fear as he caught sight of fur. Fur that was as black as midnight, but still noticeable in the faint moonlight. Harry's eyes followed the fur down to a long tail that curled around what looked like a dog's back leg. He followed the pitch black fur speckled with white spots in the opposite direction to find not one, not two, but three heads of dogs all dozing, peacefully unaware that humans had just traipsed into their vicinity.

“Why did they lock that door?” Harry heard Ron asking.

“To keep students out,” Hermione replied. “Because students aren't allowed in here.”

“Why wouldn't students be allowed in here?” asked Ron.

“Because of that,” said Neville, whose eyes were locked on the same creature as Harry's were.

As Ron and Hermione first saw the dogs, they finally stirred awake. The dogs stood up on paws as big as manhole covers. It took the five children a few moments to realise that three dogs weren't getting to their feet. No, _one_ dog was standing up on its feet, and that dog _had three heads_.

As it finally stood to its greatest prominence, it glared down on them. It uttered a guttural growl and bore its sharp, white fangs. Harry looked up at the beast standing before them. He thought of the tales of Ancient Greece, of the heroes who journeyed into realms of Elysium and Tartarus, traveled across the rivers such as the Styx and come face to face with Cerberus, the great three-headed dog that acted as sentry to the realm of its master, Hades, the lord of the underworld.

Any eloquent thought such as that fled from Harry's mind as another, more pressing thought entered it and repeated itself over and over again:

_That thing is really bloody massive. How many teeth does it have in all? Is it going to kill me? It probably is._

That thought no doubt crept into Susan, Neville, Ron and Hermione's minds as they quickly screamed in fright as they met the dog's gaze. Harry's scream almost instantly joined theirs. Ron dashed and tore open the door. Hermione ran out, followed right behind by Neville, Susan, and Harry. Just as one of the dog's heads snapped at them, Ron slammed the door shut and Hermione locked it once more. The children scrambled out of the corridor as quickly as they could. They heard Mrs Norris yowling again and Mr Filch shouting after her.

“Show me where they are, my dear,” Mr Filch called, with a certain glee about his voice.

“We have to get as far away from him as possible,” Hermione whispered.

“What do we do?” asked Susan.

“Follow me,” said Harry.

Harry led them all out of the corridor as Mr Filch and Mrs Norris scoured the hallway for them. Harry had no real idea where he was going. He was just going on instinct. Nothing more, nothing less. They crept along the hallways, peeking around every corner, acting as nonchalant as they possibly could so as not to attract any attention from Filch and his cat. Once they were well away from the third floor, they all let out a gigantic sigh of relief.

Neville whispered, “That thing was gigantic. Its heads nearly touched the ceiling.”

“What are they doing, keeping a thing like that in the school?” asked Ron, in an angry tone of voice.

“You weren't looking at the ground, were you?” asked Hermione. “You didn't see what it was standing on?”

“I wasn't looking at its feet,” Ron snapped back. “I was more concerned about the three heads with teeth that would've bit my head off. If I did look at its feet, I'm sure I'd be looking paws with claws that could've taken my head off too.”

“I'm not talking about its feet,” said Hermione. “I'm talking about the trapdoor it was standing on.”

“What trapdoor?” asked Neville.

“Honestly, do boys never use their eyes?” she muttered to herself. To them, she said, “The dog was standing on a trapdoor right in the centre of the floor. It's there because it's guarding something.”

“She's right,” Susan told the boys. “There was a trapdoor under the dog.”

Harry thought back to when he saw the dog stand up for the first time. Now that he thought about it, he remembered one of the dog's paws shifted over something made of wood. It was a dark sort of wood, but it was still noticeably different from the stone floor where it was set.

“There was,” said Harry. “I remember now.”

“That's right,” Hermione said.

“What could it be guarding?” Ron wondered.

“It's none of our business,” said Hermione.

“How isn't it any of our business?” he asked her.

“Because it's not,” said Neville. “Our coursework is enough to deal with as it is. Now that I've seen what's in that corridor, I can stay away from it like Dumbledore told us to in the first place. Good night.” With that, Neville went downstairs toward the kitchens, where Hufflepuff House presumably was.

“Neville is right,” Hermione told them. “We need to focus on our schooling and not on any fanciful notions about that dog.”

“You're really not interested in what that dog is guarding?” Harry asked her.

“No, I'm not,” said Hermione. “Like I said, it's none of our concern. Now, I'm going to have supper, study, and then go to bed. That is, unless you have another brilliant scheme to get us killed—or worse, expelled.”

Neither Harry nor Ron had a response. So, Hermione replied, “Good. See you in class tomorrow,” and left to retire to Ravenclaw Tower.

“Your sister really needs to sort out her priorities,” Ron told him.

“Actually, that was her at her most sensible,” Harry replied.

“But, she's right,” said Susan. “This isn't any of our business, and we should get to bed.”

The three Gryffindors walked back to Gryffindor Tower. As they passed by the Fat Lady, snoozing in her frame and sleepily letting the kids through as they told her the password, Harry thought about the dog being in the school. It would have to be there to keep people away from something really important, wouldn't it? But, what could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, that's Chapter 9. There are sight changes to the sequence of events from here on out, most notably meeting Fluffy sooner than before. It felt a little more natural to introduce him sooner.
> 
> On a personal note, I got a new job, so that means more time to write, especially on breaks and days off. :D
> 
> Thank you, everybody, for still following!


	10. Our New Seeker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Ten  
**Our New Seeker**

 

To their greatest relief, no one approached any of them about their encounter with the dog the night before. Mrs Norris hissed at Harry, Ron and Susan as they went down to the Great Hall. Mr Filch had shot them an angry look because of Mrs Norris's hissing, but he didn't confront them and had been otherwise oblivious to his cat's reaction.

“She thinks everyone is up to no good,” Ron told them. “Let's just keep going.”

Two weeks passed without any real event to speak of. Everyone went to their classes. Hermione got their study group up and running. Ron would complain about the homework the teachers unloaded upon them. Hermione would double-check Harry's work, and he hers. When Ron asked Susan to help him with hers, she just laughed and told him he was on his own. Neville struggled with most of the subjects, but excelled at everything related to Herbology. Harry was best at Defence Against the Dark Arts, even though Professor Quirrell's teaching left so very much to be desired. Hermione naturally excelled at everything and was the go-to person when something never made sense.

One morning in early October, Neville showed everyone something his grandmother had sent him one day. It was a little glass ball, no bigger than a ball bearing, decorated with gold leaf and containing a cloud of light grey smoke.

“Is that a Remembrall?” Susan asked.

“Yeah, my gran sent it to me to help with my schoolwork,” Neville told her, as Susan passed the glass ball to Hermione, who took it with keen interest.

“I read about these,” said Hermione. “The smoke inside the ball turns red if the holder has forgotten anything important.”

“Neat,” Ron said, and he handed it back to Neville. Once Neville got it back, the smoke in the ball turned a bright cherry red.

“Did you forget something?” Harry asked.

“That's the funny thing,” Neville replied. “I can't remember.”

They all shared a good laugh and went back to their studies.

*****HPG*****

The next day, Harry came down to breakfast to find Susan glancing at her schedule. Ron was shoveling his plate of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Harry sat down and asked, “What's going on?”

Susan handed Harry the schedule and told him, “We all have flying lessons today.”

At that, Harry let out a groan.

“What's bothering you?” asked Ron, filling his plate some more. “Don't you know how to fly?”

“Of course I don't know,” said Harry. “Our family always thought witches riding broomsticks was just a myth. I don't know how to fly and now Malfoy and all the other Slytherins will get to laugh at me making a complete fool of myself.”

“It won't be as bad as you say, Harry,” said Susan, finishing the bowl of fruit beside her bowl of porridge. “It's just what you're thinking about that's making it bad.”

She left and went off to get changed. Harry looked over to the Ravenclaw table to see Hermione fidgeting with her hair as she looked at a copy of the notice for flying lessons. Harry got and went over to talk to her.

Over her shoulder, he said to her, “It's going to be all right.”

She regarded him nervously, replying, “You don't know that.”

“A broomstick isn't an airplane, 'Mione.”

“No, it's far less safe than an airplane. An airplane is metal and stable. A broomstick is just twigs tied to a stick, easier to crash, easier to catch fire, it is wood after all—”

“'Mione, take a deep breath, and try to relax.”

“I am NOT flying on one of those things, Harry!” she cried. She ran out of the Great Hall, leaving everyone surprised at her more than normally emotional response.

“Is that a sore subject?” Ron asked, watching her leave.

*****HPG*****

Up until the lesson started, Harry had hoped that some freak thunderstorms would put the flying lessons on hold until the end of the year. Unfortunately, that would not be the case, as every day up to their first lesson was bright and brisk. All he could really do was step up to a broomstick and do his very best at learning how to fly. _And hope that Malfoy falls off and breaks every bone in his body_ , he thought to himself most darkly. _Or at least hope that I don't_.

It seemed everyone had some amazing story to tell about flying. Malfoy boasted about how his father lifted the restriction on first-years not having broomsticks and went into an extremely convoluted story about how he got into some trouble with a Muggle news helicopter. Seamus recalled how he would ride around the countryside, and one time tried to teach his Muggle father how to fly. Even Ron got into the habit of telling a fanciful story about flying, recounting how he was flying on his brother Charlie's broomstick around their family home one day, and almost crashed into a Muggle hang glider.

Hermione seemed to be the only person who truly didn't want learn how to fly. After much prodding from her friends and encouragement from Harry, Hermione admitted to them that she hated flying, explaining that, on a flight home from Munich after a summer holiday in Bavaria, she had a panic attack after hearing about an airplane that crashed on a mountainside in Japan and another that caught fire on the runway in Manchester. Both took place within the time they spent on holiday. That day onward, the family strove to take holidays that didn't require the family to set foot on an airplane or travel outside of Great Britain.

Ron then had to ask what an airplane was. It made her laugh more than she had thought she would. Everyone else joined in on the laughter. Ron suggest that she find a book on flying and get to knowing as much as she could.  She was still uneasy about the idea of flying, but a little more comfortable than before.

*****HPG*****

When the post came on a Friday morning in October, the day of the first flying lesson, Harry was surprised to see a letter in Hedwig's beak as she flew down to meet him. Harry took the note and saw Hagrid's untidy scrawl addressed to him. He opened it and read:

_Harry,_

_I had meant to send you a note earlier, but duties got me swamped until now. Would you and Hermione want to come to my hut this Saturday afternoon for tea? I'd love to hear about how your lessons are going. Send us an answer back with Hedwig and I'll get things ready._

_Hagrid_

Harry quickly brought the note to Hermione, who quickly said she'd love to go. Harry wrote their answer on a scrap of parchment, saying _Yes, please. See you then._ Hedwig took the note and flew out of the Great Hall, leaving the Granger children with at least one thing to look forward to that day.

Around three o'clock that afternoon, the school held flying lessons on a spot of lawn on the opposite side of the forbidden forest. Broomsticks had been lined up on the grass. Everyone stepped up to one and waited for their flying instructor, Madam Hooch. She strode out to meet all. She had white hair and eyes as yellow as a hawk's. She dressed all in black, but her attire was softer shade of black than the Potion Master's clothing, if that were possible. Nevertheless, he sensed that Madam Hooch was still a no-nonsense type of person.

“Welcome to your first flying lesson,” she said to them all. “Is everyone standing by a broom?”

They all told her yes.

“Good,” she said. “Now, everyone hold their right hand over the broom to their right. Hold your hand over it and shout 'Up!'”

Harry cried “Up!” and the broomstick flew right into his hand. Surprised, harry hand quickly closed around it to make certain it didn't fall back down or fly away. The broom shook and struggled against his grip, but Harry didn't let go.

Not many people were as successful as Harry. In fact, the only other person who was was Malfoy. The broom jumped into his hand the moment he said “Up.” He didn't have to shout it; he just said it and the broom flew into his had like it was a servant to Malfoy.

Everyone shouted “Up!” over and over with very little results. Hermione couldn't get hers off the ground; it might've sensed how nervous she was, like a horse could sense a nervous rider. Ron had to try at least six times before his broom leapt up into his hand. Susan had better results, getting her broom into her hand on the third try. Nevile was just as unlucky as Hermione. His broom wouldn't lift off the ground, until his fifteenth try when his broom's front end flew up in an arc and struck him in the head. Everyone laughed as Neville nursed his bump. Madam Hooch put an end to it when she shouted, “That's enough!”

Everyone got their broom into their hand, finally, even Hermione. Once that was done, Madam Hooch had everyone straddle their broom. Harry took on an odd sort of glee when he saw Madam Hooch tell Malfoy he was riding his broom all wrong all they years he said he flew on a broomstick. When everyone got situated on their broomsticks, Madam Hooch took out a whistle from her pocket.

“When I blow my whistle, I want all of you to give a good hard kick off the ground up into the air,” she told all the students. “On my whistle, three... two...one...”

Before she could do that, Neville found himself floating upward.

“No!” Neville cried, struggling to get the broom to go back down. “Stop! Go back!”

“Longbottom! Come back down this instant!” shouted Madam Hooch.

The broom kept going higher and higher. Harry and Hermione watched in apprehension as Neville kept until they saw him fall off. Everyone let out a gasp as Neville plummeted to the earth and hit the ground with a thud. Madam Hooch dashed over to him.

“Longbottom!” she cried. “Don't move, lad. Let's have a look at you.”

She started to lift Neville up, but he let out a loud cry of pain as Madam Hooch took hold of his wrist. “Oh, dear. A broken wrist. Not to worry, lad. We'll get you to the hospital wing in no time at all.”

She gingerly helped Neville up to his feet. He whimpered in pain as he trudged alongside her. Madam Hooch called out to the students, “All of you still stay put on the ground while I guide Longbottom to the hospital wing. If I see anyone in the air when I get back, you'll be on the train to King's Cross the moment you touch the ground.”

As Madam Hooch led Neville away, Harry saw Malfoy smirking as he bent down to pick something up. When he stood back up, Harry saw it was Neville's Remembrall.

“Did you see the look on that fat lump's face?” Malfoy asked with a laugh. “Maybe he should have held onto this. That way, he would have remembered to land on his fat arse.”

All the Slytherins laughed with him. Harry stepped forward to stand face-to-face with Malfoy, a stern look etched across it.

“Give it here, Malfoy,” Harry said to him.

Malfoy scoffed. “No, I don't think I will. I'll put it somewhere Longbottom won't find it. The roof will do.”

Malfoy mounted his broom and launched off, flying higher and higher.

“What's the matter, Potter?” Malfoy taunted from up above. “Afraid of heights?”

Harry mounted his own broom. Hermione came up to stop him. “Harry, don't. Madam Hooch told us to stay put. You don't even know how to—”

Before she could finish, Harry kicked off the ground and flew up the fastest that he could go. It was much faster than he expected. But, it was exhilarating, more amazing than anything he'd ever experienced up to that point.

Harry focused on Malfoy, who grew larger in Harry's sight as he flew faster and faster at Malfoy. Harry saw the fear growing in Malfoy's eyes. When Harry thought they were going to collide with each other, Malfoy squealed and ducked out of the way. Harry shot past him, turned around flew back. He came back to Malfoy, floating right in front of him.

“You nearly knocked me off my broom!” Malfoy shouted.

“That's the idea,” Harry said simply. “Now, give me Neville's Remembrall. Crabbe and Goyle won't be able to cover your arse up here.”

That thought came to Malfoy's mind. He fumbled about his pocket and pulled out the Remembrall. He held it up, the sun glinting and illuminating smoke that faded from bright red to greyish-white.

“You want it so badly, then go get it!” Malfoy shouted, and he hurled the glass ball up in the air. Harry kept his eyes on it as it flew into the sky and began its descent to the ground. He shot forward in its direction. He lay against the broom as close as he could manage and entered a steep dive, gathering speed second by second. He watched the ball plummet in slow motion. The wind whistled in his ears, commingled with screams of people watching Harry as he flew after the ball. He was almost on it. It was about a foot in front of a fifth-year boy's nose. The boy caught notice of it, a confused expression on his face. Harry clutched it in his hand, flying past the boy and startling him in the process.

Harry pulled back up and rocketed back into the air. He raised his fist in triumph as the other first-years cried in excitement that Harry caught the glass ball, and that he hadn't died either.

“GRANGER!” Harry heard someone shouting from below. He glanced down and saw Professor McGonagall stalking to the first-years. Harry felt his heart clench and his stomach turning to water. “GET DOWN HERE! NOW!”

Harry flew down and landed on his feet as the professor strode up to him, looking at him as if he had just flown circles around her head.

“What on earth were you thinking?” the professor shouted. “You could have fallen off your broom and broken your neck!”

“But, Professor—” Harry cried, before his teacher cut him off.

“I don't want to hear it,” she told him. “All I want to hear is—”

“Professor!” a voice cried to Harry's left. The burly boy Harry caught the ball in front of came running up to the group, dropping his book bag and crying with a Scottish burr, “Professor, stop! Don't do anything to him!”

“Wood, this has nothing to do with you,” McGonagall told the boy. “Now, go to your next class before I write you up as well.”

“Professor, you can't punish him,” the boy named Wood pleaded.

“Why shouldn't I?” she asked.

Wood went right up to her and whispered something in her ear. McGonagall looked at Wood as if the boy had just told her the biggest secret of their lives. The professor looked between the older student and Harry, before muttering to Harry, “Wait right here.”

McGonagall and the boy called Wood walked over to an oak tree about fifty feet away. Harry watched in apprehension as Wood related what Harry did to Professor McGongall, pantomiming his flight with exaggerated hand gestures.

“You are going to be in so much trouble,” Hermione whispered to him.

“Shut up, Hermione,” he grumbled back at her.

McGonagall had turned back to him and was walking straight at him. She had a determined look about her, more serious than any time he saw her in class.

“Mister Wood tells me you have something that does not belong to you,” said the professor.

Harry held the glass ball out to her. She took it in her thumb and forefinger and looked at it.

“This is a Remembrall,” she said plainly. “As I recall, Mister Longbottom received one at breakfast yesterday morning. Why were you doing such foolish things with it, Mr Granger?”

“Malfoy was going to put it up on the roof,” said Harry.

“That's a lie!” Malfoy shouted, as he came forward to defend himself. The other Slytherins chorused his remark. The Gryffindors cried that they were liars and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs quickly agreed with them.

“Quiet!” McGonagall yelled. The Slytherins did so. “As you were saying, Mister Granger.”

“He flew up on his broomstick to do it, and I flew up to stop him. Then, he threw Neville's Remembrall when I got up there, and next thing I knew, I was flying after it.”

“And you caught it out of a fifty-foot dive,” McGonagall finished. “And flew right back up after you had it in your hand.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry replied.

Harry couldn't tell what Professor McGonagall was thinking. Everyone gazed at Harry in amazement as he concluded his account of the events. She,on the other hand, had squinted her eyes at him and her lips were the tight line they had always been.

“Leave the broom here and come with me,” McGonagall finally said. “Miss Abbott, please see that you return Mister Longbottom's property to him. Everyone else had better stay on the ground unless you want to be held back from the rest of your lessons until next year.”

Hannah Abbott nodded and took the Remembrall from McGonagall when the Professor handed it to her. Harry set his broom down and followed her. Everyone else looked down in worry as the professor led Harry back to the castle. Malfoy smiled at the prospect of Harry getting in trouble and probably expelled.

“Wood, you come along as well,” she called to the fifth-year boy, who quickly followed them once he picked up his book bag again. McGonagall led the two boys through the school, past the students in the halls who looked upon Harry Potter being led by a teacher with great interest. When they walked past the Weasley twins, Wood mouthed something to them while pointing at Harry. The twins' faces lit up and they pumped their fists excitedly.

McGonagall brought them to her classroom, where Peeves scrawled dirty words all over the chalkboards.

“Out, Peeves!” shouted the professor, as she threw an eraser at the poltergeist's head. Peeves blew a raspberry at them, and flew away. Once he was gone, the professor told the boys, “Sit down.”

Harry and Wood took their seats. McGonagall put on a pot of tea and set out cups for the three of them. When the kettle came to a boil, she poured the water into a teapot, decorated with a tartan pattern similar to her sash. He noticed that the cups had the same tartan pattern as well. She set out a plate of biscuits as well.

“Regardless of what I have heard today, Granger,” McGonagall said as sat at her desk, “that does not give you the right to act so rashly as you did today. Have I made myself understood?”

Harry answered, “Yes, Professor.”

“No doubt you're wondering what I personally have to say about your actions, are you not?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Wood told me you conducted a feat on your broomstick very few witches and wizards could have done, let alone a first-year student. Was that your first time on a broomstick?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Granger, this is Oliver Wood,” she explained to Harry, gesturing to Wood as he took a biscuit off the plate. “He is the Captain for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He's rarely wrong about how good a player is. He has never made a bad choice in his roster.”

Once the tea steeped long enough, she poured them and herself a cup each.

“Wood,” said the professor to the burly fifth-year boy. “I believe you're right. Mister Granger would be best suited to the Seeker position.”

“Absolutely, Professor,” Wood quickly agreed, gleeful about the professor's decision. “We need to get him a really good broom first. I'd say the new Cleansweep would do well for him.”

“Before we can do that, you will need your parents' permission to play,” McGonagall told Harry, passing him a roll of parchment. Harry unfurled it and saw it was just as McGonagall had told him, a permission slip. “Without that, you would only get to watch the matches.”

“What about Madam Hooch?” asked Harry.

“I will handle things with her,” said the professor. “You just worry about your parents granting their permission. And don't worry about me granting mine. That is a given.”

“There is another thing you ought to do, Professor,” said Wood.

“What is that?” she asked him.

“I would send a thank-you note to Lucius Malfoy,” Wood replied. “Thank him for pushing the governors to let up on the first-year restrictions and letting Harry play for Gryffindor.”

“Yes, I should. But, I think I should wait until we know if Draco has made the Slytherin team.”

“And once we trounce Slytherin at our match.”

“One can only hope,” McGonagall replied ruefully. “After last match, I could barely look Professor Snape in the eye. Hopefully, we can rout them as they so dearly deserve.”

Wood and McGonagall chuckled at their remarks.

“Professor, will I get detention for what I did?”

“I will defer your detention, for the time being,” she told him. “And no, Mister Malfoy will not receive any either, though Merlin knows you both deserve it.”

Harry took a nervous sip of his tea. McGonagall added, “If I hear that you are not taking your training seriously, or if your grades suffer as a result of our decision, I will take you off the team and you will receive detention. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” he answered.

McGonagall told him, “Your father was a great Chaser, you know. One of the best Hogwarts has ever seen. He would be proud you made the team.”

“Really?”

“Yes, proud that you made the team, but prouder and just as jealous that you made it as early as you did.”

Harry beamed with pride and took a sip of his tea.

“Wood will go over the basics with you tomorrow,” she said.

“My sister and I have a meeting with Hagrid for tea tomorrow for tea, Professor.”

“It'll only be about an hour in the early morning, Potter,” said Wood. “Two, at most. You'll still get to join them for tea.”

“It is important that you understand the basics of the game before you even go into a match,” she added.

“That makes sense,” said Harry.

“Yes, it does,” McGonagall said. She finished her tea and said to him, “Go get some supper, Granger, and don't speak too much about our discussion. It might be all right to say something to your sister, but I don't want the whole of the school raising the roof about this.”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry said as he got up and walked out the door, thanking them before he left. As he walked back to Gryffindor Tower, he ran into Hermione, who gave him a stern look.

“Are you in trouble?” she asked.

“I got on Gryffindor's Quidditch team,” he told her. Her eyes went wide as if he'd just told her her favourite author would visit the school.

“Why on earth?” she asked in utter confusion.

“That boy that stopped her was the Captain for Gryffindor's team,” Harry said. “He wants me on the team and she agreed with him.”

“You put yourself in a position to be punished, and instead you got rewarded for it?” she asked in disbelief.

“I know, I'm surprised too,” Harry said.

“Harry, please don't put yourself in danger like that again.”

“Was I just supposed to let Malfoy get away with doing that to our friend's things?”

“You should have found a better way to get it back.”

“If there had been, I'd have done it. But, there wasn't, and Neville would have had to explain to his grandmother why he needs another Remembrall.”

Harry barged past her, leaving her frustrated and dumbstruck.

“Please don't tell anyone about the Quidditch thing yet,” Harry told her, only just remembering the message McGonagall gave him. “They don't want to make a big thing out of it until later.”

“Right,” said Hermione. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Hermione stalked off, leaving Harry feeling irritated that she would think he would put his life in danger on a whim. _You're better than that_ , he told himself. _Well, better now than you have been_.

Whatever thoughts Harry had on the matter were forgotten when he entered Gryffindor Tower. He saw Wood standing in the Common Room, with everyone, even the sixth- and seventh-years listening to his every word. Wood explained to them, “We can't go blabbing about this to the entire school, all right? Harry gets through with his first lesson tomorrow, then we can talk about it. Until then, everyone keep their mouths shut.

When everyone saw him come in, everyone cheered as Wood, who took notice of his arrival, said, “There he is! Our new Seeker!”

Everyone excitedly welcomed him in. The Weasley twins both clapped him on the back at once.

“Glad to have you on board, Harry,” said Fred.

“Truly a great day for us,” George added.

“Seeker! Blimey, Harry! That's incredible!” Ron cried.

“You're lucky you didn't break your neck,” said Susan, before smiling and adding, “but, damn good job, Harry.”

The Weasleys broke out food and drink for everyone. The evening turned into a party for the whole of Gryffindor. Harry went to bed early, owing to the lesson from Wood the next morning. He lay in bed for several hours before he drifted off to sleep, recalling the events of the day and imagining what the lesson would be like.

*****HPG*****

The next morning, Harry awoke at seven in the morning and was about to get ready to go to his first Quidditch lesson. That was until Wood had come to the first-year boys' dormitory and handed Harry a training outfit.

“Get dressed in that and meet me at the Great Hall in five minutes,” Wood told him.

Harry did as he was told. He quickly donned the training uniform in no time and went down to the Great Hall. Wood had a chest in both hands and a broomstick stowed in the crook of his arm.

“Right, let's go,” he said as he led Harry outside. They walked out the main doors and down across the grounds.

“Quidditch is by far the most popular sport the Wizarding World has,” Wood explained. “Each of the houses has their own team and we all compete for the Quidditch Cup. Winning it is just as important as winning the House Cup.”

They soon arrived at a pitch surrounded by stands festooned with all the Houses' colours. Eight towers stood with seats at the very top, two each draped in one House's colours. At both ends of the pitch stood three posts, each with a large hoop fastened to the top.

“This is the Quidditch pitch,” Wood explained. “Every match is played here. Rain or shine, no days off for good behaviour. Impressive, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, gazing in every direction, amazed at the entire structure.

“It's always been one of my favourite places to be,” Wood told him. “Before we go over the rules of the game, I want to watch you fly.”

Wood handed him a broomstick. Harry took it and liked the feel of the wood.

“I want you to fly from one end to the other, five times each way. Then, do ten laps around the whole pitch. Is that clear?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He straddled the broom and kicked off the ground. He flew to the end to his right. Once he went past the three posts, he pulled a tight turn and shot back down the pitch. He flew straight as an arrow and quicker than he ever thought possible. When he passed the other posts, he turned back in a turn so tight it would have made a hairpin turn feel comfortable. He flew up and down the pitch at a blinding pace. Once he got to end of the pitch for the tenth time, he pulled sharply to the right and shot around the pitch just as quickly. He made his first lap in what felt like not even ten seconds. In no time at all, he finished his tenth lap and flew down beside Wood, who looked undeniably impressed.

“Glad to see I wasn't mistaken,” Wood said to him. He took the broomstick and set it on the grass beside the large chest.

“The game itself is simple enough to understand,” Wood told him. “On the field, there are seven players to both sides. Each one has a specific role to play in a match, and a different ball to focus on in the match.

“Every team has to have a Captain to lead everyone on the pitch, and I'm the Captain for the Gryffindor Team.

“So...” Wood opened the chest and pulled out a large red leather ball about the size of a bowling ball.

“This is the Quaffle,” said Wood. “This is the ball that is handled by the Chasers and the Keepers. What do you suppose they do?”

“Well,” Harry answered. “Keepers sound obvious enough. I think they would guard those three posts at the the very ends. And I guess the Chasers would try to get the Quaffle past the Keeper and through the hoops?”

“That's exactly right,” Wood replied. “ Any goal a Chaser scores is worth ten points. Make sense?”

“I think so,” said Harry.

Wood told. “It's not that simple while you're in play, of course. But, that's the simplest way to put it.”

Harry looked over to the chest and saw three other balls resting within it. Two of them were about the size of a cannonball, made of some black metal and chained down inside the chest. Both of the black balls shook and fought against the chains that held them down. Harry had a feeling that he didn't want to be near those when he was up in the air.

“What are those ones?” asked Harry, pointing to the restless black balls. Wood took a club out of the chest and handed it to Harry.

“You best have this ready,” said Wood as Harry took the club, which looked like a cross between a Rounders bat and a juggling pin. Wood released one of the iron balls from the chest. It rocketed into the sky until it was just a tiny dot. Then, it hurtled back toward them, growing larger and larger until it was almost on top of Harry. Entirely on instinct, Harry swung the club with all his strength, connecting wood to iron with such force that the ball flew clear down the length of the pitch and through the hoop in the centre. Wood looked impressed by Harry's apparent skill.

“Not bad, Potter,” said Wood. Wood tensed up as he looked down the pitch to see the iron ball rushing toward them again. Wood crouched into a position to catch the oncoming ball. The ball slammed into him, but Wood caught it, spun around, and pinned it to the ground with his body. He held tight to the ball as it struggled against him. Wood shoved the ball back into the chest and locked the chains tight around it.

“That is a Bludger,” Wood told him. “There are two of them. They're solid iron, enchanted to knock any player off their broom. That is why each team has two Beaters. It is the Beater's job to hit the Bludgers, like you did, toward the opposing side and away from their teammates. Got all that?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Chasers try to score with the Quaffle. Keepers guard the goal posts. Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their tea.”

“Very good,” said Wood.

“Have the Bludgers ever...hurt anyone?” Harry asked apprehensively.

“You haven't played Quidditch if you haven't got hit by a Bludger,” said Wood. “You'll get a few broken bones, maybe a concussion, but a Bludger hasn't killed anyone, at least not at Hogwarts. Thankfully for you, you won't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers—”

“—unless one of them hits me in the head,” Harry said, cutting into what Wood was saying.

“Nah, we have the Weasley brothers for our Beaters,” Wood told Harry, playfully brushing aside Harry's worries. “Bludgers are practically scared of them.” Wood reached into the chest and brought out a golden ball, about the size of a large walnut. As Wood held it out for Harry to see, the ball sprouted little wings of silver.

“As Seeker, all I want you to focus on is this,” Wood said to Harry. “This is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot.”

Harry kept his eye on the Snitch as it hovered above Wood's hand, flapping its wings faster than a hummingbird.

The Snitch zipped about their heads as Wood went on. “The Golden Snitch is wicked fast and really hard to see because of that.”

“Is that why it's so important?” Harry asked, his attention devoted almost entirely to the little golden ball flitting about their heads.

“No,” Wood replied. “The Snitch is the most important ball in any match because catching it will end the match and the Seeker that catches it earns another hundred fifty points for their team.

“To be a Seeker, Potter, you have to dodge and weave through Chasers and Beaters, Quaffles and Bludgers, to get the Snitch before the other Seeker. You'll draw the most fouls because the other side won't want you to win. And you'll have to do all that without taking your eyes off it. Do you think you're up to this?”

Harry caught the Snitch right in front of Wood. He drew his hand back in great surprise at his sudden display of skill. Wood, however, looked upon the act with great surprise, but his face showed he was more impressed than surprised.

“Maybe with some practice,” said Harry, trying to downplay what he was certain Wood would say were his natural abilities. Wood took the Snitch back, smirking at Harry's statement.

“You might not need that much, to be honest,” Wood said.

Out of the chest, he brought a wire basket of golf balls—ordinary, run-of-the-mill Muggle golf balls (Harry wondered to himself if there were such a thing as Wizard Golf; he might look into that once he got the chance.) Wood set Harry to fly up and catch each one he threw up into the air. Harry flew to and fro, all over the pitch. He nearly crashed into the stands at least five times, but he only missed two or three throws from Wood. Even then, Wood was impressed with Harry's skills at flying and catching the golf balls.

“The Quidditch Cup will be ours this year,” he cried gleefully. “We'll get you acquainted with the rest of the team soon enough.”

The walk back felt grueling, but Harry felt amazing. He felt proud of himself, and more than eager to play his first ever Quidditch match. He just hoped his parents would give their permission.

*****HPG*****

Once Harry got back to Gryffindor Tower, he took a quick shower and got ready for his tea with Hagrid. He put on a nice button-up shirt, as close to a Gryffindor red as he could manage, with some good trousers and left to join Hermione down by the castle's main doors. As he descended the steps, he saw her with hair done in the frizzy, puffy pony tail she always had when she did her hair like that. She wore a dress in the colours of Ravenclaw, sky blue and bronze.

“I didn't know if we should have brought anything,” she said as he joined her.

“I think he's taken care of everything today, 'Mione,” Harry replied.

“But, Mum and Dad always bring something for their friends when they go to parties.”

“We're kids. What are we going to bring?”

They continued their bickering on the walk to Hagrid's hut. Hermione said they should at least have brought some sweets or biscuits. Harry said they'd be late if they tried to find something and they were better off going straight to Hagrid's. That argument went on up until they got to Hagrid's front door.

Harry knocked on the door as Hermione looked about the front of Hagrid's hut. A large pair of boots sat off to the side. Propped against the side of the hut, beside the boots, was a crossbow.

A dog's barks and scratching answered Harry's knock, followed by a keen whining. They heard Hagrid shouting, “Get back, Fang. Sit. Stay.”

The door opened as Hagrid stood before them, wearing something that looked like a flowery apron.

“Hello! Glad you could make it! Come on in!” he said to them happily. Behind Hagrid sat a great big boarhound, eager to greet new humans. Hagrid looked at his pet, and said with a chuckle, “This is Fang. He's mighty friendly. Go on, Fang. Say hello.”

The dog leapt off its haunches and dashed up to his master's guests. Harry giggled as the giant dog greeted him. He had some vague memory of being around a black dog, but he couldn't remember when. Harry's attention returned to the present when the gamekeeper said, “Well, this is my humble abode.”

The hut was small, especially taking into account the size of its occupant. Hams and pheasants hung from the ceiling. A copper kettle sat boiling over a fire in a stone fireplace. A bed in the backroom stood in the corner, covered with a patchwork quilt.

“It's very quaint,” Hermione said.

“It's not much, I know,” said Hagrid, “but it's home.”

“I like it,” said Harry.

Hagrid blushed. The kids sat down and Fang rested his head on Harry's leg, drooling and wagging his tail. Hagrid served them tea with some of his homemade rock cakes. They had raisins in them that nearly broke Harry and Hermione's teeth. They both had to wonder if Hagrid had used actual rocks in his recipe, or if Hagrid had gone through some geological process to make them. They imagined their parents and grandparents would throw a fit if they ever tried these.

“So, you made any friends yet?” Hagrid asked them.

“Yeah, we did,” said Harry. “We're good friends with Ron Weasley. We got to ride with on the train.”

“Ah, the Weasleys,” Hagrid replied. “They're good people. Those twins are a handful, keep tryin' to go into the woods. But, they're all damn fine people. Anyone else?”

“We got to be friends with Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom,” Hermione told him.

“Aye, the Longbottoms,” Hagrid recalled. “Frank and Alice, some of the best fighters I e'er saw back in the War. They're damn good people as well. Never got to know many of the Bones family, 'cept her aunt. She's one of the best people working in the Min'stry today. One of the few I would trust to run things, if she ever makes it to the top.”

“Hagrid, how long have you been gamekeeper here?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, it's been ages,” Hagrid replied, boasting of it. “Nearly fifty years now.”

“Really?” Hermione asked in astonishment.

“Oh, yeah,” Hagrid told her. “Dumbledore helped me get the job as an apprentice after I got expelled. Great man, Dumbledore.”

“How did you get expelled?” Harry asked, before he stopped himself from pressing any more. “Sorry, I guess that's not a good story.”

“Nah, it's all right,” Hagrid told him reassuringly. “But, to be honest, it is a touchy one I don't like telling much. Let's forget about that and talk more 'bout you two. How are lessons going for you?”

Harry and Hermione recounted everything about their days at Hogwarts thus far. Hagrid congratulated Hermione on being the top of her class thus far, telling her he knew she'd be a great witch. She blushed at Hagrid's compliments and smiled proudly at them.

They avoided telling Hagrid about the three-headed dog for fear that the gamekeeper would chastise them or report them for being where they ought not have been. They did vent about how annoying they thought Mr Filch and Mrs Norris were. They were happy to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git.”

“Ah, Missus Norris never leaves me be when I'm in the castle,” Hagrid told them. “I'd like to introduce her to Fang one of these days.”

When Harry told Hagrid about how Professor Snape treated him in class, Hagrid tried to avoid eye contact with Harry.

“I wouldn't worry too much, Harry,” said Hagrid. “It don't take much to rub Severus the wrong way.”

“Severus?”

“Yeah. Harsh name for a harsh man, I know. But, no, Severus might unkind and a hard man to like, but he's a good teacher. Don't take his words too seriously.”

The mood brightened considerably when Harry told Hagrid about Wood and McGonagall making him the new Seeker for the Gryffindor team.

“Good on you, lad!” Hagrid cried in excitement. “Youngest Seeker in a century, that'd make you.”

“Really?” Harry asked.

“Oh, aye. Your father was a damn good Chaser. Made Captain for the team, he did. He and your mum would be damn proud of yeh. Damn proud.”

Harry went slightly pink as he heard Hagrid's words. Hermione rubbed his shoulder in sympathy. A look

“Gulpin' gargoyles, that reminds me,” Hagrid said. “Excuse me a moment. I'll be right back.”

Their host got up and ran to the backroom. Clatters and clangs rang out, joined by Hagrid's grunts as he moved things around. Looking around the room, Harry caught sight of an old newspaper. It was the evening edition of the Wizarding paper, the _Prophet_. This edition was printed exactly three weeks after his birthday. The headline made Harry gasp and grab the paper. He read the story in great shock.

 

Details of Attack on Teacher Emerge  
By Rita Skeeter

_New details have come to light regarding the attack on a senior staff member of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a source within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement said early this morning._

_On the morning of the 1_ _st_ _of August, Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was found unconscious and seriously injured in Okehampton, West Devon._

_Eyewitness accounts earlier in the day placed the professor in Diagon Alley, guiding a boy purported to be Harry Potter and the boy's adopted family through the shops. These accounts also report the professor as having visited Gringotts, with a source inside the bank saying that business concerning a vault, numbered 713, had been settled that day._

_When asked about any business she might have conducted, a representative for Gringotts issued the following statement:_

_“Any business conducted between Professor McGonagall and our institution is precisely that: between just us. And if you know what's best for you, you'll keep your snotty nose out of it.”_

_Reports from Okehampton suggest that the professor was involved in a duel of sorts. The assailant left the scene and their identity has yet to be determined, as do the motives behind the attack. It was reported that a married couple named Nick & Nell Petrie found the professor and quickly took her to healers at St. Mungo's before returning to their home in the town. The professor was successfully treated and discharged after two weeks. Neither Mr nor Mrs Petrie have made any statement regarding the incident._

_Despite the best efforts of reporters, Professor McGonagall has yet to address the matter to any member of the press, but Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore made this statement:_

_“Our Deputy Headmistress is one of our most beloved teachers at Hogwarts, and, rest assured, we will cooperate with authorities in every way we can in order to bring her attacker to justice.”_

_When asked why McGonagall was in London and then in Okehampton, the Headmaster stated that Professor McGonagall was conducting business for Hogwarts in his stead and left it at that._

_The DMLE have made no official statement on the matter._

 

Harry handed the paper to Hermione, who read the main headline with shock. She read everything in half the time Harry did, but didn't have the time to say anything when Hagrid came back in.

“Found it!” Hagrid shouted. Hermione hid the paper behind her back as Hagrid sat down. “Almost got scared I lost it.” Hagrid handed a photograph to Harry. “Here you go, Harry.”

Harry took the photo and felt his heart clench up a little. Hagrid had just given Harry a photo of his mother and father, James and Lily. Both of them looked like they were just barely over eighteen. They stood in front of Hagrid's hut. James spun Lily around as if they were dancing. Lily laughed as he did, planting a peck on his cheek as they came to a stop.

They looked just like how everyone had described them. James was the spitting image of Harry, with the messy jet black hair that stuck up at the back and the thin face, but with hazel eyes, square-framed glasses and a slightly longer nose. Lily was astoundingly beautiful, with her dark red tresses, clear and bright skin, and bright green eyes not unlike emeralds, the same eyes that she bestowed upon Harry.

“They look so young,” Hermione said in awe.

“Yeah,” Hagrid replied wistfully. “That was the day before they left Hogwarts. James had just proposed that day. They got married not long after.”

Indeed, Lily's ring finger bore a large diamond set on a gold ring, the band of which was embedded with several small rubies. They both were ecstatic, smiling happily as they danced before their photographer.

“Hagrid,” Harry asked, tearing up slightly, “can I have this?”

“Of course you can,” Hagrid replied, in a tone that implied any other suggestion was out of the question. “It's why I dug it up for you.”

Harry held the photo proudly, never taking his eyes off it.

“What's that you got behind your back, Hermione?” Hagrid asked, catching sight of Hermione's hand hiding the paper.

“Oh!” she realised, bringing the newspaper back into view. She stammered, but said. “I saw a recipe I really liked in here. I wanted to try it when I got home. Plus, I wanted to do the crossword. May I take it with me?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Hagrid happily replied. “No problem at all. I just use it to wash the windows when I prefer not using Magic.”

“I thought you weren't allowed to use Magic at all,” Hermione said in surprise.

“I'm not,” Hagrid explained, glancing nervously over at his flowery pink umbrella hanging on the coatrack, “but, some things I can only do with Magic, and sometimes I get an itch that I can't help but scratch.”

The rest of their tea time involved Hagrid showing them around his garden, full of squat orange pumpkins still growing on their vines, walking them along the edge of the wood closest to Hagrid's hut (Hagrid told them repeatedly never to go into the woods; he wouldn't say why), and introducing the two siblings to the Giant Squid that lived in the Black Lake. The Squid offered a tentacle for each of them to shake. Harry and Hermione took the tentacles squeamishly, but giggling at the amusing moment.

 

Coming back to the hut, Harry saw something white sticking up from a fence post. It looked almost like an arrow. He pointed it out to Hagrid, who pulled it from the post, and said without a care, “It ain't nothing to worry about.”

 

Hagrid loaded them up with rock cakes to take back to their respective common rooms. They would have declined, owing to the fact that they didn't want their teeth and stomachs to suffer any more, but they didn't want to offend their host.

On their way back, Hermione brought out the newspaper and held it out in front of them.

“McGonagall was attacked right after she was with us?” she cried.

“Seems that way,” replied Harry.

“But, she said she was going right back to Hogwarts. What was she doing so far away from the school?

“I don't know. Maybe it was just a story to tell.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“I think that whatever McGonagall took out of Gringotts, she brought here to the school.”

“Of course,” answered Hermione. “That's why the dog is in the third-floor corridor. It's there to protect it.”

“But, what could it be?” asked Harry.

“Is it really any of our business?” Hermione asked him.

“It is a little bit,” Harry answered her.

“No, it isn't, Harry.”

“How do you know?”

“If we were meant to be involved, she would have involved us properly in all this. Right now, the most important thing is to focus on our studies, and for you to focus on Quidditch as well. We have no business poking our noses in any of this.”

“But, Hermione,” Harry said, before she cut him off.

“It's not our business, Harry,” she told him. “And if you try to make it yours, I'll tell Mum and Dad. Don't think I won't.” She stormed off, leaving Harry standing dumbstruck.

As Hermione stalked back to the castle, Harry began to think about the events of that day. He heard the goblin say the vault number. He remembered the brown package McGonagall slipped in her handbag. What was in that package?

Another thought cropped up in his mind shortly after that. It was something that Professor McGonagall had said, when she guided them through Diagon Alley. She had said something about Gringotts. _One of the most secure locations in the entire Magical World_ , that's it. That's what she said. _Right after Hogwarts_.

 _But_ , Harry asked himself, _what could be so important that they needed to move it from Gringotts to Hogwarts?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: It surprises me that I got this chapter done so soon after the last one. But, like I said before, the new job gives me more time to write, and I'm very grateful for it. Hopefully, the next chapter will be out just as fast as this one.
> 
> I know rewriting all the Quidditch basics is monotonous, especially for a fanfic, but it feels necessary for a rewrite like this. Details of the attack are intentionally vague and I know I had no reason to introduce a truly proper picture of James and Lily, but I didn't feel okay with Harry going a whole year without seeing a photo of them. I'm surprised I didn't do it sooner in mine.
> 
> Enjoy, and I'll see you guys later.


	11. The Tribute and the Troll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Eleven  
**The Tribute and the Troll**

 

The rest of October passed with little to speak of. Days felt brisker than before. The green of the spring and summer faded to dunner hues. Clouds gathered more and more, but no bad weather came with it. Homework became more bountiful as the days progressed.

To his greatest pleasure, his parents had sent their approval for him to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team and a note saying they would shop around for a really good broom for him. Harry got to practice more and more with the team and quickly impressed his teammates with his skill, even with a school broom, which Fred & George complained shook when they got to too high a speed. The Chasers—Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet—watched in awe as Harry weaved through the air with the greatest ease. Fred & George occasionally hit a Bludger or two at him, just to see how quickly he would dodge it. Harry did so effortlessly, to the twins' wide-grinned approval.

The practice sessions brought out the best in Wood. Granted, during practice, he shouted at everyone and berated anyone who made what he called a tosser's mistake. At the end, though, he was beaming and repeating over and over, “The Cup is ours this year! Yes, it is! Yes, it is!”

To Harry's surprise, news about his becoming the new Seeker stayed secret among Gryffindors since his confrontation with Malfoy. No one spoke about it in the Great Hall or anywhere outside of the Common Room. Even Hermione kept her word about keeping mum about it. That was, until the middle of the month.

Harry was eating porridge with berries for breakfast while he reviewed homework from Snape's class. Hedwig flew to where Harry sat at the Gryffindor table. Three of the school owls helped her carry a long, slender package into the Great Hall. The owls set the package at the table and flew away while Hedwig perched at the table, waiting for Harry to unwrap the present. Harry had the strong suspicion that this was the new broom he would fly for his Quidditch matches. He saw a note, which was addressed to him from his mum and dad, pinned to the wrapping paper. Harry opened it and read:

 

_Dear Harry,_

_Your father and I went broom-shopping for you, thanks to the help of Mrs Weasley. You remember, she was that kind woman that helped us through the barrier to the Hogwarts Express. Anyway, the man at the Quidditch Supply store said this was by far the best broom they had in their stock. I hope it's one you will enjoy very much. Practice lots and don't forget to study more._

_We look forward to seeing you at your first match._

_Love, Mum_

 

Harry tore open the wrapping paper to reveal the most amazing broomstick he had ever seen. It was a Nimbus 2000, just like the one he had seen in the store window at Diagon Alley. Once his classmates saw what he had got, they quickly went agog at what their housemate had just received.

“No way!” cried Angelina.

“That's wicked!” Seamus said ecstatically.

“Would you give me a go on it, Harry?” Ron asked.

“What's going on?” Malfoy's snide voice asked, cutting through the crowds as everyone clamoured over the broom. When he saw what Harry's new broom, Malfoy began to laugh. Crabbe and Goyle joined in, their laughs much more boisterous.

“What are you going to do with that, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his laughter dying down.

“Play Quidditch,” Harry said simply.

“Quidditch?” Malfoy replied. “I'm surprised you even know what it is. You think because you got away with flying that day, you can just try out for a Quidditch team? Madam Hooch probably put you on the 'grounded' list the moment your feet were in the air.”

“What? Didn't you hear?” Fred asked Malfoy.

“Harry's our new Seeker,” said George.

Malfoy's face went slightly pink, though his smirk didn't disappear. “Pull the other one,” he said to them. “The day I believe the Weasley twins is the day I marry a troll.”

Wood came up, curious about what everyone was gathered around the table for. When his eyes fell on the broom, he let out a gasp and took the broom up in both hands, examining it as if it had belonged to Merlin himself.

“This is a Nimbus 2000!” he cried in reverence. “Bloody hell, Harry! This'll blow everyone away on the pitch! This is the perfect broom for a Seeker!”

Everyone looked at Malfoy for his response, expecting him to storm off in a huff. Malfoy stayed put, his jaw set in anger. When no one said anything, Harry said to Malfoy, “I don't know any trolls, but I bet either Crabbe or Goyle could stand in for one.”

Everyone laughed as Malfoy went pink at Harry's comment. His eyes narrowed even more as he glared at Harry. Crabbe and Goyle looked about ready to pulverise Harry there and then. “You really think you'll be any good?” asked Malfoy. “Gryffindor must be desperate to find anybody if they give you the Seeker spot so quickly.”

“Oh, please, Malfoy,” Wood said. “I heard about your tryout for Slytherin. Flint said you were so bad that if anyone from Chudleigh were there to see you, they'd have offered you a five-year contract on the spot.”

Everyone laughed anew at Malfoy's offence. Malfoy sneered and stormed out, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, who shoved one or two people out of the way out of frustration.

Once they left, everyone gushed over Harry's new broomstick again. Neville, who had long since recovered from his fall, was eager to know more about how to fly properly. Even Hermione was impressed at the sight of the Nimbus, examining it in great detail, though in trepidation.

Harry had to break away from everyone when classtime came. He stowed away the broomstick at his dormitory, albeit with great reluctance. The time would come when he could properly show everyone in the school what he could on a broomstick.

*****HPG*****

As the end of the month drew nearer and nearer, Harry grew uneasy. It had nothing to do with uneasiness toward future Quidditch matches. That was the one thing Harry looked forward to the most.

In truth, it had to do with the 31 st  of October. That day was never a happy time for Harry. Hermione would try to ease his apprehension. Despite her best intentions, Harry was still worried and irritable about when the day would finally came around.

One moment came during a Charms lesson about a week before Halloween. Professor Flitwick had been teaching them all how to do a Levitation Charm, explaining that the proper enunciation of the charm, along with concise wrist movements, were essential to getting the best results every time. The diminutive professor had them all practicing a swish and flick movement with their wands, and after had recite the incantation for the Charm, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”, over and over again.

Once he was satisfied with how everyone enunciated the spell and the movements they used, the professor paired everyone up to practice on a pristine white feather. Harry tried once, but did not get any results. He tried again without anything resembling a good outcome. He tried again, waving his wand madly at the feather. Hermione stopped him from waving it anymore.

“Stop,” she told him. “You're going to put someone's eye out if you keep that up. Besides, you're doing it all wrong.”

“Then, you do it, if you know what you're doing,” Harry muttered.

She calmly looked down at the feather and said, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” With a swish and flick, the feather floated upward. She attracted the attention of Professor Flitwick, who watched with great joy as the feather continued floating closer to the ceiling.

“See here, everyone!” the professor cried. “Miss Granger has done it!”

When the class ended, everyone filed out. Hermione caught up with Harry, who seemed sullen and put off by his sister's success.

“It's a tough spell to manage, but—” she said, before Harry cut off the rest of her sentence.

“Don't humiliate me like that again,” he growled through clenched teeth and stormed off, leaving her standing at her brother's outburst.

Harry often avoided her every chance he could, moving on from wherever she approached him as quickly as possible. She always tried to speak with him, but he made every excuse he could to avoid speaking with her, not wanting to speak in public about what he considered a purely private matter.

The day of the 30 th , after McGonagall's class ended, Harry was about to pack up and move on to Snape's class when McGonagall approached him.

“Granger, may I speak with you in private?” she asked Harry.

“I am in a hurry, Professor,” she replied. “Snape will—”

“—let you off with a warning when he sees a note from me,” she finished for him. She gestured to the chair and he sat down. “Your sister tells me you've been more than irritable these last few days.”

The question caught him off-guard. He glanced at her in surprise. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Granger, I know history well enough, particularly where it concerns events ten years past.”

She had cut to the heart of the matter right there and then. As much as he didn't want to talk about it at all, there was no avoiding it any more.

“I'm fine,” he lied.

“If that were the case, your sister would not have approached me at all. Please tell me what is the matter.” Her voice was more soothing than he remembered it ever being. When he looked at her, he understood that she really did mean to help him.

Harry explained to her what would happen every year, early in the morning on the 31 st . How he would experience a nightmare so horrible that he wouldn't wake up. How he would thrash about in his bed, trapped in his state of slumber, nearly screaming until he had gone hoarse. But nothing would wake him, unless his mother could ease him back to a waking state.

When he finished, McGonagall bore a grim expression that belied a sense of genuine worry. She said nothing, but went back to her desk and quickly wrote something on two scraps of parchment. She handed them to Harry and he read them. One was the pass from McGonagall excusing him from being tardy to Professor Snape's class. The other, to his surprise was a day pass to be excused from all classes the next day. She quickly made several copies of the second note, indicating that all of his teachers would need to see it.

“If you would rather be away from the other students this evening,” she said, “I would not blame you.”

“Could I maybe stay a night in the hospital wing?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“I'm certain Madam Pomfrey would allow it, once she hears the circumstances.”

“I'll go speak to her, then. Thank you, Professor.” Harry left and raced down to the dungeons. After he got done with a very trying session of Potions, which began with the professor excoriating Harry for his tardiness (even after Harry handed Snape the note McGonagall wrote), Harry made his way to the hospital wing.

When he got to the wing, a hassled-looking woman with greying hair came up to him. She immediately began performing a checkup on him.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked while taking his pulse.

“Are you Madam Pomfrey?” Harry asked.

“Yes, now where does it hurt?” the woman replied, checking his glands.

“Nowhere,” Harry told her in confusion.

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked her, stepping away and glaring at him.

“Professor McGonagall said I could stay the night here,” said Harry, handing her the note the professor wrote for him. Madam Pomfrey took it from him and read it at a glance. When she was through with it, she stowed it in her pocket and led Harry to the first of several hospitals bed that all seemed to be antiques. She sat him down and reread the note a second time.

“It says you're to be given a Dreamless Sleep Potion,” she said. “Why do you need that?”

Harry explained to Madam Pomfrey what he had told McGonagall. Madam Pomfrey watched him calmly, not saying a word or asking any questions until Harry finished his story. When he was done, she told him, “I'll keep you overnight. As for the potion, that will wait until you're ready to sleep and not a moment sooner. You'll need a full, well-balanced meal to go with it. I'll send to the kitchens for your supper to be brought up. In the meantime, find something to do while you're waiting.”

“I've got my homework,” he told her.

“That will have to do, but I typically prefer my patients bring something that _relaxes_ them,” she said. “I'll bring your supper when it's here. You'll have your potion at least half an hour after you're finished.”

She left him to his own devices and went to her office. Harry went over homework for Charms and Herbology, leaving History of Magic aside as he didn't want to bore himself to death while he was in the hospital wing. He suspected Madam Pomfrey would have kittens if he went and did that.

The half hour passed faster than Harry expected. Madam Pomfrey brought him a full platter of food—roast beef with a baked potato and buttered peas—and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Harry ate at a leisurely pace, savouring the meat and the vegetables while he continued to study. When he was done, Madam Pomfrey Vanished the dishes and had Harry change into a pair of pajamas. When he was settled under the sheets, Madam Pomfrey passed him a cup of some sort of potion. Harry tasted a little bit of it, worried it would taste like the worst thing ever conceived by man.

“Drink all of it,” Madam Pomfrey told him, “otherwise it won't do you any good.”

Harry reluctantly drank the entire potion, not relishing the taste but not dismissing it either. Madam Pomfrey took the cup back and watched Harry expectantly. Harry felt nothing, until his eyelids felt heavier than a ton of bricks. He fell back onto his pillow and drifted off into a deep sleep.

*****HPG*****

_His mind was clear. Calm. He had no thoughts running through his mind. Except that one. And that one. There were thoughts, but nothing so vexing that it would startle him into a fit._

_His mind was a serene and boundless expanse. Anything could happen out here. This must be what it was like not to have any dreams. He wished every night could be like this. No terror, no fright, no harbingers of futures yet to pass._

_As he went through the boundless domain, an environment began to coalesce from the very air. He found himself within a house, a house decorated with tasteful, dark cherry furnishings. A coffee table bore a scattering of Wizarding magazines and a vase of flowers. Roses. Four rested within the vessel: one a deep black, the second of pure white, the third a bright yellow. The fourth stood taller than the rest, but had yet to bloom or bear any colour in its petals._

_Sitting at the sofa was a tall, slender man with square-framed glasses and messy jet black hair. James._

_Outside was a dark night sky, through which no light shone or glimmered. James sat, reading a book with a cup of tea beside him. Steam rose from its surface and curled in the air, dissipating as it went higher and higher._

_James looked up to the doorway. Through it came a young woman with rich red hair and bright green eyes. Lily. She carried a baby boy in her arms. A boy with James's messy black hair and Lily's bright green eyes. Harry. Harry was looking at himself as a baby. Lily brought Harry to his father, who set his book aside and welcomed his son's into his arms. The baby smiled widely as he grabbed at his dad's glasses. James laughed as he took his glasses back and Harry went back to trying to take them again. James took the glasses and rested them on Harry's nose. After a brief moment, Harry took them off and threw them beside James's book. Both James and Lily laughed lovingly at their son's display._

_Harry looked out the window and saw a green light growing on the horizon. It grew brighter and brighter, larger and larger by the second. Harry shouted at his parents, at his younger self, but no sound came out. The light grew more and more until it enveloped everything inside the room and out._

_The room flew apart, as if it were sand in a high wind. The room and the people in it disappeared from sight with ghastly screams. Harry looked around, desperate to find a way to get far from the green light. He looked to his back and saw a figure striding toward him. The figure was cloaked in robes as black as shadow. It held a wand in an emaciated hand with desiccated white skin. The figure raised its wand. The green light flowed from all over straight into the wand's tip. Everything went pitch black, but Harry knew the man was still there. Lord Voldemort was still standing before him._

_The green light surged forth from the wand straight at Harry, illuminating the wizard in all his grotesque visage. The wizard laughed as he cast his curse against him. Harry could do nothing but scream—_

*****HPG*****

Harry awoke to find someone holding him close to their body. He fought and struggled with all his might to break free. He screamed and raged against this person that would confine him. The person wouldn't let go.

It took him a while to notice that the person whispered over and over, “It's all right, Harry. It's just a dream. It's just a dream. You're safe...”

Harry opened his eyes to find his view obstructed by bushy brown hair and his head pressed against his sister's chest. Hermione kept whispering to Harry to calm him. He sat up, pushing himself away from her in confusion and embarrassment.

“What are you doing here?” asked Harry.

“Madam Pomfrey told Professor McGonagall what was happening to you,” she explained. “She came to Ravenclaw Tower and told me what was happening. She sounded so worried. I was too. I have been for a while.”

Harry looked away, ashamed of himself. “The potion didn't work.”

“I know.”

“I wanted it to. I didn't want to deal with this stupid dream ever again.”

“I know you didn't.”

“Why does this always have to happen to me?”

“Because a horrible man did horrible things, to you and your family and so many others,” she said simply, but with a tone of disgust. “But, you can't give up just because of it. I won't let you, and neither will Mum or Dad, or our friends.”

She brought him in close and he hugged her back. They stayed that way while he wept silently. He broke away and asked, “Will you stay? Until you have to go to class?”

She gave him a warm smile and answered, “Of course I will.”

They stayed up the rest of the night, rereading several of their favourite books from their younger days. Hermione did all the reading, as was her custom. Harry lay back on his bed and listened as she read, recalling how she would do this when he was recovering from the nightmares in the past or when he was ill with something like a cold.

When the time came for Hermione to leave for class, she gave Harry a great big hug and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. When Harry finished his own breakfast, he gave his thanks to Madam Pomfrey and went on his way to Gryffindor Tower. As he walked through the hallways, he passed by a few of the older students. They all gave him a nod of the head as they went to their first class. Harry could see they had a sad expression when they acknowledged him. Harry kept a stoic look around everyone who greeted him, despite his desire to shout at all of them, “I'm fine! Stop treating me like a baby!”

Getting to Gryffindor Tower was a brief respite from the well-wishers outside. Once he got into the Common Room, everyone treated him like it was any other day. That was until he got to Ron and Susan.

The two were going over their homework for Transfiguration when Harry came up and sat down. Susan glanced up uneasily from her work and greeted him. Ron did the same, though he was more blunt in his concern for his friend.

“Sleep okay, Harry?” he asked. Susan elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a dirty look.

“What?” he asked indignantly. “I'm just asking Harry how he slept last night.”

This time, Susan slapped him up the back of the head. To Harry, she said, “We're just concerned about where you were last night. We didn't see you at dinner.”

Harry admitted the truth to them. “I spent the night in the hospital wing.”

Both of his friends looked at him, deeply worried. “Why?” asked Ron.

“I get really bad nightmares around this time of the year,” he explained. “I didn't want anybody to see me like that.”

“You could have told us,” said Ron. “Dean, Seamus, Terry and I, we would have understood. We would have tried to help.”

“Ron, this is something I deal with in private. I'm glad you would want to help, but—”

“It's private,” Ron finished. “I understand, Harry.”

“But, if there is any way we can help you, please tell us,” said Susan.

“Thanks,” Harry told them.

“You going to join us for class?” asked Ron.

“McGonagall wrote me a pass for the day off,” Harry answered, “but I'll meet you both for lunch.”

“Okay, see you then,” Ron said as they packed up for their first class.

Susan gave him a small hug and said, “You hang in there,” before she left for her classes. Harry watched them go, grateful he had friends and family who genuinely cared for him.

*****HPG*****

Harry joined them all around noon after a rather uneventful first part of the day. The whole Hall was much more subdued than its normal rowdiness. Everyone had low-key conversations and only a few barely got over shouting volumes.

Harry came over to his friends sat and was about to ask how classes had when he saw Hermione storm in, looking distraught and deeply offended. She came over to them, composing herself and sitting down with them, in-between Harry and Susan.

“Are you okay, 'Mione?” Harry asked her.

“I'm fine,” she mumbled.

“Are you sure?” Ron asked.

Hermione glared at him and went back to poking at her food.

“Hermione, what happened?” Susan asked her, consoling her.

Hermione appeared ashamed of what she had to say, but mustered her strength and admitted what bothered her so.

“Malfoy led a bunch of the Slytherins in calling me 'Mudblood',” Hermione told them meekly. Susan and Ron looked aghast at what she had just related to them.

“He did not!” Ron cried in disgust.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked worried about the implications of it all.

“It means someone with dirty blood,” Susan said angrily. “It's a really foul name for someone who's Muggle-born. Someone who doesn't have any Magical family. It's not a word anyone hears in a civilised conversation.”

“You've heard of blood purity, right?” Ron asked Harry.

“Yeah, Hagrid told us about it,” said Harry. “It makes me sick.”

“It should,” Ron replied. “It makes a lot of us sick.”

They heard Malfoy call them. “Well, look who came to lunch,” the pale Slytherin sneered, standing right behind Harry. “Harry Potter sees fit to eat with the rest of us, but he's too good to go to class today.”

“Leave him be, Malfoy,” said Susan sternly.

“No, I won't leave him be,” Malfoy replied. “He ought to suffer through class just like the rest of us, instead of getting to skive off so he can cry into his pillow.”

Harry paid more attention to his food. Ron was about to jump up and confront him, before both Harry and Susan held him back.

“You know what I think?” said Hermione. “I think you're jealous of Harry.”

“Me? Jealous?” Malfoy cried in disgust. “Of what? Of having a great ugly scar on my forehead? Of having the worst blood-traitor in history for a father and a Mudblood of a mother to boot?”

Harry jumped up and looked Malfoy square in the eye, ready to hex him on the spot.

“You take that back!” Harry shouted.

All eyes were on them, but Harry wasn't about to back down. Malfoy had taken a bit of glee from getting a rise out of Harry.

“Did I hit a nerve, Potter? Figures you would stand up for all these useless posers. Like father, like son. How can you possibly stand to be around them? Every one of them stinks worse than a ripe Bubotuber fruit.”

“I'd rather stink to high Heaven than go about spewing all the garbage coming out of your mouth,” Hermione said defiantly.

“I wasn't talking to you, you filthy Mudblood!”

Harry's fist flew out and drove itself into Malfoy's nose. The Slytherin boy fell backward and clutched his his face, which had already started to bleed. Crabbe and Goyle looked back and forth between Harry and Malfoy in surprise, not knowing if they ought to beat Harry to a pulp or help their friend.

“You broke my nose!” he cried through his hands. “You broke my bloody nose!”

“What's going on here?” the voice of Professor Snape shouted. The professor glowered at everyone as they shrank away from his presence. Snape's eyes fell on Harry and his hand still clenched into a fist. A smirk grew on the professor's lips.

“Oh, my,” said Snape haughtily. “Doling out a punishment in true Gryffindor fashion, aren't we, Potter?”

The Slytherins sniggered at him. The other students watched uncomfortably as the scene unfolded before them.

“This is conduct most unbecoming of a hero, wouldn't you say?”

The Slytherins laughed even more.

“He deserved it,” said Harry, his voice unwavering.

“I sincerely doubt that. What could possibly warrant this assault?”

“He called my sister a Mudblood.”

The word brought more aghast looks from everyone around them. Even a few Slytherins, with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle, looked at Malfoy with revulsion. The most surprising reaction came from Snape. The Potion Master's mouth curled into a sneer.

“You're certain of this?” the professor said, barely above a whisper.

“I am,” Harry replied. “He called my birth mother that, too.”

The professor squinted his eyes in what appeared to be anger as he turned to Malfoy, who was being helped up by Pansy Parkinson. Blood trickled down his face and stained his front. His eyes and nose were turning a deep purple.

“Is this true, Malfoy?” Snape asked.

Malfoy looked at his Head of House in a timid but unctuous manner. “Of course it's not true, sir,” said Malfoy, his voice thrown off by his injury. “I only made a joke and then Potter flew off the handle.”

Snape looked between Harry and Malfoy with a shrewd expression. He said to Malfoy, “Look at me.”

When Malfoy did what he was asked, Snape drew his wand and muttered, “ _Episkey!_ ” Malfoy's nose straightened itself with a crack and a shout of pain from Malfoy. His nose was as good as it had been before Harry hit him. His clothes were still stained with his blood, but his nose was fine now. Still bruised, but fine.

Seeing the work he had just done, Snape grabbed Malfoy by the back of his neck and brought him before Hermione, who could only stare at the scene in confusion. “Apologise to her,” growled the professor.

“But, sir—”

“I am in no mood for excuses,” Snape hissed. “Apologise. Now!”

“I'm sorry I called you that,” Malfoy said, wincing under Snape's grip.

“Will it happen again?”

“It won't happen again,” Malfoy whimpered, though to whom he said that was not clear. “I swear it won't happen again."

Snape released Malfoy, with a shove into Pansy Parkinson. He told Malfoy, “Fifty points from Slytherin for directing an epithet at a fellow student. Now, go clean yourself up before I take away any more.”

The entire Hall was shocked beyond belief, Malfoy more than anyone. Snape never took away points from his own House. He never had in all the time he served at Hogwarts. Pansy Parkinson took Malfoy away to the dungeons, away from their professor's vicious glare and the gawping stares of their schoolmates.

When they were gone, Snape looked around at the other students and yelled, “Get to class!” Everyone bustled away, wanting to avoid any more of Snape's ire. When Harry brushed against Snape, the professor grabbed his shoulder and turned the boy to face him.

“If you ever strike another student like that, I'll take away five times as many points, and you can be certain that will be the least of your worries,” Snape snarled at Harry, before shoving him aside and stalking away, leaving Harry stunned and confused.

“Snape just stood up for us,” Harry said, as if the obvious had just been lost on all of them.

“That was the most bloody weird thing I had ever seen in my whole life,” said Ron, who was just as stunned as Harry was.

“Are you all right, Hermione?” Susan asked her.

“I'm fine,” Hermione said, rattled by what had happened. Harry took her into a one-armed hug. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“You'll be all right,” he told her.

“I know,” she said. “You're lucky you didn't get in trouble for that.”

“I know,” said Harry.

“Thank you for standing up for me.”

“You're welcome.”

*****HPG*****

Professor Snape's siding with Harry and Hermione spread all over the school. It wasn't every day that you heard the Head of Slytherin House took sides with a student from Gryffindor, and a first-year at that. What surprised everyone even more was that Snape told all his students that if they ever used that word, in hatred or in jest, he would see to it that they would be mucking out the Owlery every week until their seventh year had ended.

The day passed by so quickly that everything felt bizarre.

From what Harry had heard, the rest of the day was not any better for anyone. Every teacher centered their classes around the anniversary of the War. Professors Sprout and Flitwick had them all observe a full minute of silence before the proper lessons. Even Professor Binns set aside his original lesson to recite all the pertinent facts about the end of the War. The students would have been intrigued about it all if Binns didn't sound like his usual, boring monotone self.

Professor Snape, however, went through the strangest change of anyone. Apart from his treatment of Malfoy, Snape went about his class, observing everyone's potion making, and instead of berating students for what he considered sub-par work, he would give pointers if someone was struggling. This new Snape disturbed everyone. It would have been nice if the professor had moved toward this sort of behaviour over a certain period of time. But, seeing him being nice so abruptly was so bizarre that everyone couldn't believe their eyes. Harry was rather glad he didn't have to witness it.

Professor McGonagall was the only one who didn't make a big deal of the day. McGonagall only had everyone focused on their Transfiguration work and not on anything relating to the memorial. There was no one else who focused on the present such as her.

*****HPG*****

The Halloween feast was typically a festive affair at Hogwarts, from what Harry had heard. Tonight, though, the Great Hall was somber and sparsely decorated. Only black banners draped the walls, no jack-o'-lanterns sat grinning and glowing anywhere, there was nothing to say this was a joyous holiday for anyone.

Candles rested on their sides on every one of the tables. Place settings were arranged for everyone.

“What's this all for?” Ron asked.

“It's a tribute,” Percy explained to him, “to the end of the War.”

Harry felt himself growing uneasy at all this. He sat himself between Ron and Susan and hunched himself over in a poor effort to hide himself from everyone. The staff filed in from the back of the room. They all took their seats while Dumbledore stayed standing, gazing at the student body. When the Headmaster spoke, it was with a kind voice just barely above a whisper.

The Headmaster called out to the Hall. “Please stand.”

Everyone obeyed the Headmaster's wish as Dumbledore spoke again. “On this night, ten years ago, a devastating war came to an end. That war saw wizard fighting against wizard, witch against witch, family against family.

“This war saw too many lives lost, and we must not forget them or the sacrifice they made. We must not forget how this war affected all of us and countless others. But, most importantly, we must remember we are still alive.

“Now, as you all no doubt have noticed, on this night, there are no candles floating above us. We have provided you all with candles at each of your House tables. For any family or dear friend you lost to this conflict, on either side, take one candle for each person. Even if you lost no one, please light just one in respect for the fallen. Your prefects will light them for you. Then, your Head of House will send them upward into the rafters.

“The dead do not truly leave us, and not one will be forgotten this night.”

The students each took at least one candle. Harry took two for himself, one for James, one for Lily. Harry saw each of the Weasley boys take two as well. Susan took one candle. Whether it was for family or out of respect, he couldn't be certain, but he wasn't about to press her for details.

At the Ravenclaw table, Harry saw Hermione pick up two candles and walk over to join him. He knew she would always show respect to the man and woman who bore her brother. She gazed at Harry and gave him a hug and a sad smile.

Considering the night, it wasn't an odd action her part. Several students commingled with others from separate Houses. Parvati Patil joined her sister at the Ravenclaw table. Lavender Brown joined them as well. Susan went over to the Hufflepuff table and joined Neville. Neville took two candles with trembling hands. He looked like he was fighting back tears and collapsing under their weight.

Everyone at the Slytherin table appeared as if they had better things they could be doing. Snape prodded each and every one of them, even the prefects, to pick up at least one candle. Malfoy had to make a big deal about it all, saying he didn't understand why he had to do this if he hadn't lost anyone at all. He still bore a bruised face after Harry had hit him, which it both menacing and pathetic whem Malfoy shot a sneer at Harry and his friends from across the room. Snape shoved a candle in his hand, lit it, and told the boy to shut up until he was back in the Common Room.

The professor took two candles for himself. When he met Harry's line of sight, the professor gave him a respectful nod of the head, his eyes filled with kindness and sadness. Harry found it unsettling but comforting at the same time. Not certain how he ought to react, Harry just gave a nod of the head back to the professor, who went about his business of coaxing the students of his House to participate in a show of respect.

Percy came around the Gryffindor table and lit the candles for his fellow students and lit his shortly after. When they were all lit, the four Heads of Houses came to their House's tables and waved their wands. The candles rose out the students' hands and into the air, illuminating the stars and the Milky Way. Harry felt the tears cascading down his face as he watched the candles for his mother and father rise up to the night sky. As he looked around the Great Hall, he saw everyone growing misty-eyed, even a fair few of the Slytherins. Hermione hugged him tightly as he watched, his tears flowing more freely. Neville cried just as strongly as Harry, if not more so. Susan helped Neville away from the Great Hall. Harry was about to follow them out when Hermione held his arm.

“They'll be fine,” she told him.

Several children, conducted by Professor Flitwick, sang a song in remembrance of the fallen.

 

 _As the fireworks light up the sky,_  
_All our dear children need not cry,_  
_For the bloody war has reached its end,  
_ _And now, our hearts can truly mend._

 

Harry didn't pay any more attention to to lyrics. His eyes were focused on the two candles he sent up to honour his birth parents. He hummed along as best he could, but he devoted all his attention on the candles floating among the stars.

 _Are you up there?_ He thought to himself. _I suppose you are. I just hope you're watching me, and I hope you're proud of me._

That line of thinking brought fresh tears to Harry's eyes. Hermione held him close as she watched the same spot he focused on. She must have known what he was thinking because she said to him, “They would be proud of you, Harry.”

Harry gripped her hand in deepest appreciation as he kept his gaze on the candles above.

Just as the song ended, Professor Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, breathing in rapid, panicked breaths as he stumbled up to the staff table. He looked up to the entire student body, took a few more breaths, and screamed, “There's a troll in the dungeons!”

What followed was a pause before Quirrell said in a much quieter voice, “Thought you ought to know,” and fainted, falling face first onto the cold stone floor. The very instant he hit the ground, students screamed in fright as they looked about wildly for a way out, expecting the troll to crash through the walls.

“SILENCE!” the Headmaster boomed. “Everyone will, please, not panic. Here is what will happen: Prefects will lead their fellow students to their respective Houses. Staff will secure the rest of the castle and subdue the troll, if possible. Now, let us all go calmly and see that all this is done without delay.”

Everyone bustled to rejoin their respective Houses, until Harry remembered—

“Neville and Susan,” he cried, as he grabbed Hermione. “They don't know.”

Ron and Hermione went pale as they imagined the worst that could happen to their friends.

“We need to tell one of the teachers,” said Hermione.

“They'll be too busy,” Ron replied. “They have to secure the school”

“And securing the school includes finding any students who shouldn't be out of their Common Rooms. Harry, back me up on this.”

Harry looked between his sister and his friend. He wanted to make sure they could get back safe, but he wanted to make sure of that himself as well. Hermione's reasoning, though, won him over. This wasn't a time for heroics.

As McGonagall walked by the Gryffindor table, Harry called her and she came up to him.

“Professor, Susan and Neville left early. They might not know about the troll.”

“We will find them, Granger,” she assured him. “Do not worry.”

She marched out of the Great Hall. Percy led the Gryffindors out, Hermione right beside him as the Ravenclaws went along with them. As he looked behind him, harry saw Snape slip out through a door at the back of the Great Hall. Before he could say anything, they were out of the Hall and trudging back to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Common Rooms.

Everyone walked along the corridor, looking over their shoulder, expecting the troll come out of nowhere. When they all reached one of the staircases, a stench hit their noses. A stench so horrible it made their eyes water and their throats gag.

“What is that?” asked Seamus, holding his nose as if that would protect his senses.

“Smells worse than you do when you don't shower,” said Dean playfully.

“Quiet,” Percy scolded them. He had his wand out and looked around with fear written all over his face. A heavy thud sounded through the corridor. They all looked to their left. Guttering firelight from the torches lit a giant figure lurching forward from around the corner.

It came around and Harry saw a beast nearly as big as Hagrid, if not bigger. Its skin had a greyish-green colour, like a steak left in the fridge for too long. Its head seemed too small for its large body, and lopsided as well. It dragged a large gnarled club behind itself. It sniffed the air as if it were smelling the air for its prey. When its eyes, beady and dung brown, fell on the children, it let out a deep growl.

“Penelope, get the kids upstairs,” Percy said to the Ravenclaw prefect, not taking his eyes off the beast.

The girl named Penelope led the children upstairs. As they began to move, the troll roared and lumbered down the corridor after them. The first-years screamed and clambered up the staircase, desperate to get as far away from the troll as possible. Percy brought up the rear, ushering them up the staircase.

Harry looked around in worry. When he looked back downstairs, he saw his sister rooted to the spot, staring up in fear at the troll. The troll strode up to her and raised its club aloft, ready to smash her into a pulp.

“Hermione!” he cried, and he dashed down the steps. He leapt and threw himself at her, tackling her and just in time. The club shattered the stone floor with a mighty crack.

The two siblings scrambled to their feet. The troll looked for its prey once more. When it found what it was looking for, it raised its club to strike again.

“Run!” Harry cried. They dashed away from the troll, who seemed surprised that they had thought of that. Still, it chased after them, bellowing in rage.

Harry and Hermione ran at breakneck speed. They felt the troll's footfalls resonate through the floor as it followed them. A door opened in front of them. Harry and Hermione saw Susan helping Neville out of the bathroom. They eyed the corridor to try and see what was making all of the commotion. When they turned their gaze forward, they saw their friends running full tilt toward them, with a full grown troll right on their tail.

“Get back inside!” Hermione shouted to them. Susan and Neville screamed at the sight of the troll and made to close the door to the bathroom. Harry and Hermione got inside and Neville slammed the door shut. Hermione shouted, “ _Colloportus_!” and the door locked tight.

The troll slammed against the door. It quickly began to buckle and splinter under the strain of the troll's impact. It took only two more blows before the troll burst through into the toilets. Neville, Susan, and Hermione hid in the stalls while Harry stood in the middle of the room. The troll swung its club and smashed the walls of each stall to rubble, just to show it could. Harry saw his friends shriek and hunker down to avoid too horrible damage. They poked their heads out of the debris, hoping that the troll would lose interest in them and leave.

The troll growled and bore its yellowed teeth and lifted its club over its head once more, ready to strike Harry down.

“Harry, get out of the way!” Hermione shouted. Susan threw a stone at the troll. It careened off the beast's head. The troll looked at her and let out a mighty roar that knocked her onto the floor. It returned its attention to Harry. Harry took out his wand and pointed it at the troll. It was about to swing its club down on Harry. In an instant, Harry waved the wand and shouted, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

The troll brought down its hand. It was empty and the troll stared at it in utter confusion. It looked about the room in search of its weapon. Finally, it looked above to see its club floating over its head. Harry put away his wand. The spell broke and the club fell onto the troll's head with a sickening crack. The club clattered to the ground. The troll wobbled on its feet in a daze before it tilted backward and hit the floor with such force that it nearly knocked Harry off his feet.

Harry looked at the fallen troll with complete disbelief. He couldn't believe it. He had taken down a troll, like one of those in the fairy tales. The beast breathed heavily as it lay flat on its back, unconscious from the impact of its club falling on its own head.

“Is it dead?” Susan asked unsurely.

“No, it's just knocked out,” Harry told her.

Rapid footfalls drew their attention to the door. McGonagall, Snape, Quirrell, Percy and Penelope ran up to the toilets. They looked upon the scene in shock.

“Explain yourselves,” McGonagall asked, her breath heavy from the dead run that brought her there.

The four friends went into their explanations simultaneously, before McGonagall quieted them and cried, “One at a time! Bones, Longbottom, you first.”

Neville shyly looked down at his feet, and said, “The ceremony got to be too much for me. Susan led me over here so I could be by myself.”

“When he felt better, we were about to leave,” Susan continued. “That was, until we saw Harry and Hermione being chased by that...thing.”

McGonagall rounded on Harry and Hermione. “And why did you leave the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws?”

“I got scared,” Hermione explained. “The troll found all of us as we were going upstairs. Everyone ran, but I couldn't, I was so scared of the thing. Next thing I knew, Harry tackled me out of the way and we ran.”

“And came here to find Mister Longbottom and Miss Bones leaving the toilets,” McGonagall concluded. “How in the world did you fell the troll?”

“Harry did it,” Neville said with relish. “He did a Levitation charm on the club and sent it down on the troll's head.”

Hermione and Susan were quick to confirm what Neville told the professor. Harry watched as Snape stood over the troll, inspecting the beast's injury. Harry's eyes drifted to the ground, where Harry saw the professor's lower leg was torn and covered on blood. There had been a slight limp to his walk as he came in and went to the troll.

“Is all this true, Mister Granger?” McGonagall asked him.

Returning his attention to the professor, Harry answered, “Yes, it's true, Professor.”

“Why didn't you go after them, Mister Weasley?” McGonagall asked him.

“Penelope and I were focused on getting the other children to their Common Rooms, Professor,” Percy told her apologetically. “We didn't know they were gone until we were well clear of the beast.”

Snape noticed Harry spying on his wound. He shifted his cloak to cover his leg, giving Harry a brief glare as he stood back up rejoin the other teachers.

“I expected a more diligent approach from you, Mister Weasley,” she said to him. “Five points from Gryffindor.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Percy replied glumly.

“As for all of you,” she said to the first-years in the room, “I hope you all understand just how lucky you came away unscathed from an encounter with a fully grown Mountain Troll.”

“Yes, Professor,” they answered just as glumly as Percy.

“As such, Mister Granger,” she continued, “given that you were the one to bring down the beast, you receive twenty points for Gryffindor.”

Harry looked around in elation after McGonagall's announcement. Susan appeared as though she couldn't believe her ears.

“Before you congratulate yourself, just remember,” McGonagall continued. “You only get that due to sheer dumb luck.”

She left the toilets, telling Percy and Penelope to guide the children back to their Common Rooms. The prefects led them out, leaving Snape and Quirrell to the task of how to get the troll out of the castle. No one said a word as they went back to the House Common Rooms. Percy led Neville away to the kitchens while Penelope led Hermione, Harry, and Susan to the upper levels of the castle. When they got to the Fat Lady's portrait, Hermione gave Harry a great big hug, thanking him once more before she went off to Ravenclaw Tower with Penelope, with the prefect telling him “Good job!” for taking out the troll.

When Harry and Susan got through the portrait hole, they were welcomed by their housemates, already dining on a full Halloween feast. Ron ran up, excited to see his friends.

“Are you too all right?” he asked. “Did you see the troll?”

“We did,” said Susan. “Harry beat it up.”

“What?” Ron said, utterly surprised.

“He did,” said Percy, coming through the portrait hole. “It was incredible. Heedless and ill-advised, but incredible all the same.”

“Harry Potter, the Trollslayer,” Ron said triumphantly of his friend.

“I didn't kill the thing, Ron,” Harry said.

“True, but it sounds inspiring,” said Ron. “Come on, let's eat!”

Ron led them to the banquet. They loaded their plates up and sat to eat. Everyone asked Harry if he really beat the troll. He constantly had to stop eating and answer everyone in the affirmative, explaining what had happened and that no, it wouldn't be a regular occurrence.

The end of the night came and Harry was glad for it. He didn't know how much longer he could stay patient with everyone asking him every detail of his encounter with the troll. Once Harry got to his bed, he collapsed and curled up for a long night's sleep. The day was well behind him, as were any nightmares that would startle him awake. He could sleep easily now, and worry about the next day come the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The hardest bit of this chapter was trying to get the right vibe for Harry's dream. Something terrifying, but not entirely so. I had wanted to try to depict it as a night terror, but I'm not certain I got the depiction right (any tips would be appreciated).


	12. The Moulting Snitch and the Bucking Broom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Twelve  
**The Moulting Snitch and the Bucking Broom**

 

Harry's encounter with the troll spread throughout the school quicker than wildfire. Everyone wanted to hear how he brought down the great beast. Even the teachers wanted to hear about it when they got him away from the rest of the students. When Professor Flitwick heard how Harry had used the Levitation Charm to bring down the troll, he let out a hearty chuckle and awarded Harry another ten points for mastering the Charm.

As the days led to the first Quidditch match, which would be between Gryffindor and Slytherin in mid-November, practice sessions grew more and more intense, with Wood putting Harry through five or six pursuits after the Snitches he set loose into the air. Harry might have missed one of them, but every other one he caught most effectively. The whole of Gryffindor was in high spirits as the day for the match drew closer.

Dean Thomas would try to convince several of the other kids that football was just as exciting, but couldn't win anyone over once they heard there were no broomsticks and only one ball. Dean wasn't to be swayed that football wasn't interesting. He put up posters of several players from West Ham United around his bed. Once or twice, Harry saw Ron trying to enchant the players in the posters to move like they would in a Wizard photograph. Harry noted to Dean his father was a supporter of Tottenham Hotspur. Though this brought a bit of scorn from Dean, Harry sensed his housemate was at least grateful to hear at least one other person was keen about football.

There were several people who weren't fond of Gryffindor's ebullience. All of them were from Slytherin. The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin got even worse when it came to Quidditch. One person who antagonised the Gryffindors as the first match came closer was Malfoy. The pale faced Slytherin would hurl insults at anyone who was on the Gryffindor team, especially Harry. Malfoy's comments were mostly just about how Harry had no parents and could only got on the team by a stupid case of circumstance. One day, Harry had had enough and said to him, “You're right, Malfoy. It was blind luck that got me there, but at least my father didn't have to change the school's rules to get me on the team only for me to fail and embarrass him.”

Malfoy went slightly pink as he glared at Harry. He stormed off followed by Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. He didn't make another comment to Harry until after the game.

Even worse than Malfoy was Snape. The Potions Master was loath to Gryffindor House and its students. That hatred doubled, maybe even tripled, when it came to Quidditch matches. The professor couldn't stand hearing any discussion of the sport and would take away points from anyone talking about it in his class. He even took twenty points away from Susan for no reason other than that he could.

Harry was eating lunch that day. That morning, his mum and dad had sent him a book, _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , they found the same day as when they got his broomstick. Harry had been perusing the sections about fouls in the game when Snape came up to the Gryffindor table and snatched the book out of his hands.

“No library books allowed in the Great Hall, Potter,” Snape muttered as he walked away, out of the Hall. “Five points from Gryffindor.”

“It's my personal—” Harry began, but Snape was out of the Great Hall before he could make his case. He got up and was after Snape. He ran up the stairs when he saw the professor hobbling away. He saw Snape duck into the staffroom to his left. He crept along until he got to the door. Snape had left it ajar and Harry listened as Snape complained to Hagrid.

Snape cursed under his breath as Hagrid took the professor's leg.

“Oh, quit whining!” he heard Hagrid reply. “This is nothing worse than anything he's done to me.”

“I doubt that,” replied Snape, growling in a whisper. “How in the hell are you supposed to keep track of something with three heads?”

“He's just doing what we put him there to do.”

“If he tries it again, I'll neuter him.”

“I'd like to see you try,” chuckled the gamekeeper.

“Keeping that thing here is more trouble than it's worth.”

“It ain't for us to question that. Dumbledore wanted it there, so we put it there. We ain't gonna question him.”

“You can follow his orders as blindly as you like,” Snape growled. “As for me, I want—”

Snape looked toward the door. He saw Harry standing, gazing in on Hagrid binding his leg. Snape got up, shoved Hagrid away and marched to the door. He threw it open and glared down on Potter.

“Be gone, Potter,” he growled. “Don't let me see you here again.”

Snape made to slam the door in Harry's face, but Harry put his hand out and braced it from closing.

“I want my book back,” Harry told the professor.

“It is school property and you put it in risk of being irreparably damaged,” Snape replied coolly.

“My parents gave it to me this morning. It was the first time I had it in my hands. I want it back.”

“You expect me to believe that half-baked lie?”

“Severus,” Hagrid cried. He had the book's front cover open. It was bare of any stamp saying it was the property of Hogwarts. “He's telling the truth. See? No stamp. This ain't one of Irma's treasures.”

Hagrid came forward and handed the book back to Harry, who took it gratefully.

“Run along now, Harry,” Hagrid said kindly.

“Thank you,” Hagrid said over his shoulder as he hurried back to the Great Hall. He dashed in and back over to the table where his friends sat.

“You got it back?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, holding it up for them to see. “But, that's not important now.”

Harry told them what he saw in the staffroom, talking about how he got his injury from the dog in the third-floor corridor.

“You think Snape wants whatever the dog is guarding?” asked Ron.

“Why else would he go up there?” Harry replied.

“There was a troll rampaging about the castle that night,” Neville said. “Maybe he didn't want one more beast run amok.”

“That dog is guarding something. I'm certain Snape is after it. He must have let it out as a distraction.”

“He was here in the Great Hall all that night, Harry,” Hermione told him.

“Maybe he's working with somebody,” Susan suggested.

“Working with someone?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Susan replied. “Maybe that person set the troll loose on the school, while Snape slipped away to get past that dog.”

“That would make sense.”

“Listen to you two,” said Hermione, slapping Harry's shoulder. “Speaking about all of this like it's any of our business when it is clearly not. Your match is coming up, Harry. Focus on that, not some stupid, fanciful notions about some great conspiracy that isn't there.”

Hermione got up and left the rest of them sitting there. They all finished their meals and went on to their next class.

The suggestion Susan made stayed with Harry as he went through the motions of the rest of his day. If Snape really was after what the dog was guarding, it would be easier for him to get it if he had help. But, who could be helping him, and what could it possibly be that the dog was guarding?

*****HPG*****

_Harry stood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. The sky was dark, full of dark gray, almost purple clouds, full to bursting with rain. The banners about the stadium were far less vibrant than on a clear day, but it was awe-inspiring nonetheless. Looking down, he saw his hand clenched around a broomstick. His Nimbus 2000. In the sky, he saw something flitting about in the air. The Snitch—it had to be._

_Harry mounted his broom, and launched of the ground with all due speed and then some. He shot forward into the sky, hot on the trail of the Snitch. As he drew closer, though, he saw there was something different about this Snitch. This Snitch was black, as black as obsidian, perhaps even more so. The Snitch shot straight downward suddenly. Without thinking, Harry followed it, pointing his broomstick down at a 45-degree angle, laying flat against the broom's body to increase his speed. As he kept his eyes fixed on the object of his desire._

_The Snitch flew faster than any missile, moving this way and that without losing any speed. Its black skin flew off in peels, leaving a slight trail of dust behind it as it shot forward. Soon, the black gave way to a white sheen, brighter and more pristine than a fresh snowfall._

_The Snitch shot to the left, quicker than Harry could react. When he realised that it changed directions on him, he turned as soon as he could, and tried to follow the Snitch's path. The Snitch flew along the perimeter of the pitch. The white skin fell away to reveal a Snitch that was yellow, as yellow as a daisy's eye._

_The Snitch shot up into the sky. It circled the tower where the teachers' seats were. Harry shot up to the top of the tower. As Harry got closer, he saw the Snitch was shedding its skin once more. The yellow skin began flaking off. As Harry drew closer, the Snitch flew off faster than a bullet again, before Harry could see what colour the Snitch had disappeared from view. He was about to fly after it, as he had done before, until he looked at the storm clouds again._

_The storm front had moved closer to the pitch. Part of it extended out, almost as if it sensed him there. The cloud, to Harry's greatest surprise, formed into a hand. Before Harry could fly away, the cloud hand reached out and took hold of the tip of Harry's broom. It stopped him dead in the air as he was about to fly away. The hand gave Harry's broom a sharp shake, then several more. It gave the broom one more shake and Harry fell off. He still had hold of the broom, but only by his left hand. One more shake from this cloud, and he would plummet to his death. The cloud took on a shape more resembling a man, a man's head, face and upper torso. The face sent chills down Harry's spine and turned his guts to lead. The face was gaunt, with two slits were its nose should have been. Green lightning coursed through its veins to reveal eyes like those of a snake, with narrow slits for pupils. It looked upon Harry with the utmost malice, with a hatred that one most often reserved for one's worst enemies._

_“It belongs to me!” the face cried, with thunder and anger laced in every syllable. The man in the clouds gave one last shake of the broomstick and sent Harry falling to the ground. Harry could only scream as he fell to the earth. Just as he saw the ground growing more and more in his sight—_

*****HPG*****

Harry awoke with a start, as he always did after one of these dreams. It was the night before his first match. He lay back in bed, hoping to drift back to sleep again. After five minutes, he brought out his journal and wrote everything he remembered about his new dream. What happened with the Snitch had him confused. It wasn't that he didn't understand why he'd had a dream about Quidditch, but more about why the Snitch changed colours as it flew.

Was it his mind's way of saying don't worry about Slytherin? He had heard that the Hufflepuff Seeker, a boy named Diggory, was definitely someone to contend with. If that were the case, the Snitch ought to have changed to just black and yellow.

When he got done writing down what he saw, he stowed away the journal. He lay back in bed, waiting to fall back asleep. Hour after hour passed, but sleep didn't come back for Harry. Part of the reason might have been nerves about his first actual match.

All too soon, the morning sky quickly turned to its azure hue. Harry got up and washed himself off. As he got down to the Common Room, Oliver stood waiting downstairs. A kit sat beside him, neatly folded. When he saw Harry, he stood up as if Harry were a general and he were a private. It felt odd, seeing that Oliver was the one that gave orders on the pitch.

“I was wondering when you'd be coming down, “ Oliver said.

“Couldn't sleep,” Harry told him.

“The night before a match is always hard for me. I usually don't sleep the night before. My nerves are always on edge, ready to fly, to play, to make a save. What are you worried about?”

“Had a bad dream.”

“About Quidditch?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, not elaborating any further.

“That just means your mind is on the game. That's a good thing. You're going to do great, Harry.”

“How do you know?”

“Nobody can have a worse first match than me. Once it started, a Bludger flew straight at me and hit me square between the eyes. Went unconscious shortly after that.”

“You missed all of your first match?”

“Not all of it. I got to hear when Madam Hooch blew the starting whistle.”

The boys chuckled at that. Oliver brought the kit forward for Harry to see. “This is your kit for all of your matches. I thought you might want to see the back of it before you put it on.”

Harry unfolded the shirt. Emblazoned on the left breast of the front was the Gryffindor crest, a golden lion on scarlet. The sleeves and shoulders were adorned with gold piping. He turned it around. On the back was the number 12 in gold lettering. Above it, also in gold, was the name Granger.

“McGonagall told me you preferred to be called 'Granger,'” Wood explained, slightly nervous about how Harry would react. “I thought you want it on your kit if that were the case. There was a reason that we gave you that number as well.”

“Why's that?”

“It was your father's,” Wood told him, “when he played for Gryffindor in his day.”

Harry gazed at the uniform with a commingled sense of pride and uneasiness. He felt nervous about the coming match, about looking like a horrible fool in front of the entire class and his parents, about potentially getting detention if he didn't do a good job like he'd McGonagall he would. But, he also felt proud of what he had accomplished. He was named the youngest player in a century, he was a Quidditch player like his birth father. He donned the kit and looked at himself in the mirror. It was baggier than he imagined it would be, but he was certain with the padding that came with it it would fit a little better.

“I'm ready,” Harry told Wood with confidence.

“Good,” Wood relied happily. “Now, let's get some breakfast.”

*****HPG*****

Despite everyone telling him he needed to eat something, he didn't really feel hungry. He was more than ready for the match. If it had started ten minutes earlier, he'd have been in the air in a heartbeat. But, it wasn't, so he had to deal with everyone encouraging him to put some food in his belly. He did feed himself a few forkfuls of eggs in his mouth, just to shut everyone up.

His mind was elsewhere. He recalled seeing the face of Voldemort in his dreams. It had to have been. It was what he most associated with the green light that always startled him awake after one of his dreams. He didn't have a face to go with the name. Anything written about the Dark Lord never had a picture to go with it.

He worried that he'd be shaken off his broomstick by what he thought was Voldemort, come down from above to try to kill him again. Or maybe his broomstick would gain a mind of its own and buck him off so it could fly away to live on a tropical island somewhere. That thought eased his worries a little with its humour, but not entirely.

He pushed all those thoughts away and focused on the strategy he and Wood planned out for him. He would stay along the perimeter of the stands, watching for the Snitch but not traveling into the action of the rest of the match. _It feels a lot easier than it's bound to be_ , Harry thought to himself.

Harry looked up to the staff table. McGonagall and Snape shot daggers at each other from their respective positions at the table. Professors Sprout and Flitwick appeared uncomfortable being between their harsh glares, but went about eating their breakfast.

“They look about ready to strike each other down,” said Hermione, observing the enmity between the Heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin.

“Much more so than usual,” Harry replied.

“Five Galleons on McGonagall,” said Ron.

“Ronald!” Hermione cried. “How can you say something like that?”

“I'm siding with the Head of my House,” Ron said in his defence.

“You're saying you hope two teachers go into a duel to the death.”

“Not really, but if it came to that, McGonagall would teach him a thing or two.”

“Unbelievable,” Hermione muttered to herself, returning to her breakfast.

“Harry!” he heard his father's voice call from the door to the Great Hall. Harry and Hermione looked up and saw his mother and father standing there, looking about the Great Hall in wonder. Harry got up and ran over to them. Jean bent down and welcomed him into her arms.

“You're looking so happy!” she said excitedly.

“You came!” Harry cried in great surprise.

“We told you we would,” Laurence said to his son, as if anything else were unimaginable.

“Mum! Dad!” Hermione cried, as she got up and dashed over to meet them.

“Hermione!” Laurence cried, as he swept her up into his arms, planting a kiss on her cheek. Hermione broke away and gave her mother a hug as well.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked in surprise and confusion. “I could have sworn Muggles weren't allowed in Hogwarts.”

“Professor Dumbledore allowed us to come and see Harry's first match,” Jean explained. “He said we were allowed this one time. Didn't Harry tell you?”

“No, he didn't,” she said, looking pointedly at Harry.

“Must have slipped my mind,” Harry murmured, looking away shyly. The Granger parents smiled at Harry's lame excuse.

“Mum, Dad, you should meet our friends,” Hermione said, leading the both of them to where their friends sat.

“Mum, Dad, these are our friends: Susan, Neville, and you've met Ron,” she said.

“We do remember,” Laurence said respectfully. “You shared the compartment with Harry and Hermione.”

“That's right,” said Ron proudly.

“Your mother's been a great help to us,” Jean told him. “Helping us to get Harry's broom and teaching us what she can about the Magical Community.”

“She was always good at that,” Ron replied, going a shade of pink that clashed with his ginger hair.

“So, Neville and Susan, is it?” Laurence asked their other two friends.

“Yes, sir,” said Neville, slightly nervous about meeting the man that raised Harry Potter. “It's very good to meet you.”

“Harry has told us lots of great things about the both of you,” said Laurence.

“I should hope so,” Susan said pointedly, but in good humour.

As Laurence and Jean got acquainted with their friends, Harry felt something larger than him nudge past him.

“Oh, do take up more space, won't you, Potter!” the professor growled.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry apologised. “Just introducing my friends to my parents.”

Snape glared at them. When he acknowledged Laurence and Jean, it was with an air of indifference and intentional obliviousness to Harry's previous statement. “And you are?”

“Laurence Granger,” Laurence replied with great respect, extending his hand to the Potions Master. He added, nodding to his wife, “And this is my wife, Jean.”

“It's nice to meet you, Professor,” Jean said to him extending her hand as well

Snape looked at their hands, slightly disgusted at the Muggles' attempt at nicety. The Grangers took their hands back, offended at the professor's stolid response.

“Potter called you his parents?” asked the professor, as if such an idea were impossible.  He added, with a very cold sense of detachment, “As I recall, Potter's mother and father are dead.”

“We adopted Harry as a baby, Professor,” Laurence told the professor, growing slightly more incensed.

“He is our family,” Jean said, her anger growing.

“How admirable,” the professor replied, not even remotely affected by their words. “I think that brought a tear to my eye.”

“Professor, I don't take very kindly to your tone,” Laurence said.

“You weren't meant to. In and out of class, your _son_ is a constant nuisance, while your daughter is a prattling incorrigible know-it-all.”

“And from what our children have told us about you,” said Jean, rounding on the teacher, “you're nothing but an overgrown bully who can only find joy from lording what little power he truly has over the children in his charge.”

Snape glared at her, ready to curse her for her impudent remarks.

“I suggest you teach your children some humility, otherwise they'll not make it far in life.”

“They already have enough of it, sir,” Laurence coolly replied.

The Potions Master barged past them, shouldering Laurence out of the way.

“Don't expect the Slytherins to be as easy to beat as that troll, Potter,” Snape muttered over his shoulder, glaring at the whole Granger family as he stalked away.

When Snape left, Jean said to her family, “I've only known that man for two minutes and I already despise him.”

“I'm sure he's used to it,” said Laurence.

“Aye, that he is,” said Hagrid as he came up to them. “Hello, Mr Granger, Mrs Granger.”

The Granger parents greeted the gamekeeper kindly. “Mr Hagrid, it's good to see you again,” Laurence told him.

“Oh, just Hagrid is fine, sir,” said the gamekeeper. “That's what everyone knows me by.”

“The year is going well for you?” asked Jean.

“Aye, it is,” said Hagrid. “Don't let what Professor Snape said get to your heads. I've not met better behaved kids all year.”

Harry and Hermione smiled at Hagrid.

“You would think that professor would know how to cheer up,” Jean said of Snape.

“Snape?” Hagrid scoffed. “Cheer up? Not likely. You'd get a bridle on a centaur sooner than you'd get the Potions Master to crack a smile.”

“He seems a nasty person, doesn't he?” Laurence asked. “He made some statement to Harry about his team being tougher to beat than a troll?”

“Tougher than the one that Harry took down?” Hagrid replied. “Yeah, he's been saying that all week.”

Laurence and Jean gasped in shock as they heard about the events surrounding that encounter.

“You fought a troll?” Laurence cried to Harry.

“It was about to kill Hermione,” Harry retorted in his defence.

Laurence and Jean were about to reply to that when Hagrid offered to show them around the grounds before the match began. The Grangers accepted his invitation, albeit still shocked to hear of their son's encounter with a beast straight out of a fairy tale. They even invited Ron, Neville, and Susan along, and the three friends gladly agreed to come. The gamekeeper led them all out into the brisk November air, showing them around the rest of the castle, the greenhouses and the lake, all while regaling them with tales about his days on the grounds, before horns trumpeted from the Quidditch pitch.

The Grangers and his friends wished Harry good luck, with Laurence and Jean telling him to be careful, and went off to find their seats in the stands.

As Harry walked into the Gryffindor locker room, he could feel the excitement from all of them. Everyone got their kit on in a flash, and Harry wasn't far behind. They were all ready to win, and win big, today. As Harry looked out from the tent, he saw the stands were completely full. A few people were standing at the back of each section for lack of seats. At the teacher's box, he saw his parents sit as close to the action as possible. They avoided Snape when he glared at them. Their spot was right by Professor McGonagall, who greeted them warmly as they sat down.

Sitting in front of McGonagall was Fred & George's friend Lee Jordan, situated around a mass of loudspeakers and radio equipment. He must have been chosen as the announcer for this match.

“All right, team!” called Wood to the rest of them, bringing Harry's attention back to the present. The team gathered around Wood as he stood at the center of the tent.

“Today is our first match of the year,” said Wood, a strong edge of determination set about every word he spoke. “But, more importantly, it _will_ be our first victory of the year.”

“You're certain of that, Oliver?” asked Fred.

“You bet I am!” he answered. “Just like I'm certain that you two are the best Beaters I've ever seen.”

“Damn right,” said George. He and Fred hit their clubs together in unison.

“And we've got three of the fastest, most accurate Chasers this school has ever seen,” Wood continued. The three girls cheered at their mention.

“Let us not forget our glorious Keeper,” the twins chorused. Everyone cheered as Wood raised a gloved fist in appreciation.

“Not to mention,” Wood added, “we have a Seeker who is a force to be reckoned with!”

At this remark, the team cheered the loudest. Harry felt his heart running over with pride. He pumped his broom in the air and shouted out with them all.

“Now, are we gonna win today?” shouted Wood.

“Yeah!” the team cried back.

“Are we gonna win?”

“Yeah!”

“Let's go win it!”

The team charged out of the locker room to the roar of the students and the townfolk from the nearby villages. Harry looked to the stands and saw his parents waving and cheering, wearing Gryffindor scarves. Looking over at the section full of Gryffindor students, Harry saw a surprise from his friends. Susan, Seamus, and Dean raised up a sign that said “Potter for President” painted in gold letters on a bedsheet Ron's rat had ruined with a lion, rampant and roaring, drawn by Dean. Several other Gryffindors made banners supporting him, one of which said “Trollslayer” and had a drawing of a Gryffindor Seeker zipping about the air over an unconscious Troll in tattered Slytherin Quidditch robes. He felt even braver than before.

The team ran to the centre of the pitch. The Slytherin team ran out from the opposite side, wearing green robes. They all gathered in a half circle facing to meet Slytherin's Captain, a sixth year boy named Marcus Flint who looked like he was related to the troll Harry fought. Madam Hooch marched out, wearing the robes of a Quidditch referee and carrying a broom of her own along with a chest like the one Wood had when he first taught Harry. She set the chest down but still held onto her broom. The crowd's cheering died down as she reached the two teams.

“Captains, shake hands,” she cried, amazingly making herself heard over the din of the spectators. They all quieted themselves the moment she spoke up. Wood and Flint shook hands, glaring at each other all the while.

When they broke apart and stepped back to rejoin their teammates, Madam Hooch said to them all, “I want a good, clean match from everyone. Mount your brooms.”

Everyone did as she said. She kicked the chest open and the Bludgers and the Snitch flew out of the chest. Harry watched as the Snitch flitted about their heads, zipping to and fro and once around Oliver's head, before disappearing into the sky. Madam Hooch took the Quaffle in her hands. She hurled it high into the air, much higher than Harry thought she could. Just before it reached the peak in its arc, she blew her whistle.

Flurries of scarlet and emerald soared into the air in every direction. The spectators roared back to life. The match had begun.

*****HPG*****

They watched the two teams flying every which way. Gryffindor had the Quaffle, with Angelina rocketing straight toward the Slytherin hoops. Katie and Alicia were right behind her. The Quaffle flew between them so fast that Hermione thought it was a oversized red Snitch. Katie sent the Quaffle back to Angelina, who spun around and hit it with the tail of her broom. The Quaffle hurtled past the Slytherin Keeper, a boy named Miles Bletchey, and through the right hoop. A bell clanged loudly, followed by Lee Jordan crying, “GRYFFINDOR SCORES!” The Gryffindor side of the stadium erupted in cheers, while the Slytherins moaned.

“A brilliant goal from Angelina Johnson,” Lee went on to say, “undoubtedly one of the most talented Chasers in the school, not to mention very attractive—”

“Focus on the game, Jordan,” McGonagall said.

“Sorry, Professor,” Lee replied.

“Budge up there,” she heard Hagrid saying.

“Hagrid, you came!” said Susan.

“Yeah, had a decent view from me hut, but then I wanted to see a bit more of the action,” he explained. “What's the score so far?”

“JOHNSON SCORES AGAIN!” Lee Jordan cried again, raising more shouts from the Gryffindor side of the stands. As if reading Hagrid's mind, Lee Jordan said, “Gryffindor leads 20-nil.”

“Go Lions!” Hagrid bellowed. To Ron, he asked, “What's Harry up to?”

“He's flying around the stands,” Ron said. “Nobody's seen the Snitch yet.”

“Kept outta trouble, eh?” Hagrid said to himself, peering at Harry flying above through his binoculars. “That's a smart way to go for your first match.”

*****HPG*****

Harry flew over the stands, watching the action as the rest of the team hashed it out with Slytherin. He wished he had something more to do, but seeing Katie take a Bludger to the back of the head made him stick to Oliver's plan for them.

“Keep clear of the action until the moment you see the Snitch,” Oliver had told him. “We don't want you attacked sooner than you ought to be.”

The Quaffle went to Slytherin. Harry saw as the Slytherin Chasers, led by Filnt, pelted toward the hoops on the Gryffindor side. Flint hurled the Quaffle at the hoops, but Oliver was too quick and caught it one-handed. He tossed it clear down the pitch to Alicia, who soared quickly away to the Slytherin hoops. She feinted to her right and got the Keeper to follow her. She flew to her left and threw the Quaffle to the hoop on that side. Bletchley wasn't quick enough to get back into position and the Quaffle went through the hoop.

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES!” Lee Jordan shouted. “Goal by Alicia Spinnet, with a brilliant assist by Keeper Oliver Wood. Thirty-nil.”

The Slytherins got angry after that. The Chasers flew straight at the Gryffindor side. Flint and another Chaser, a boy named Adrian Pucey, got to the hoops. Pucey barreled into Wood, while Flint got the Quaffle into the center hoop. The Gryffindors in the stands erupted in boos and shouts of anger, pierced by a sharp whistle.

“FOUL!” Madam Hooch bellowed, after blowing her whistle. “Stooging, Number 3, Slytherin. The goal is revoked. Possession goes to Gryffindor.”

The Gryffindors cheered the decision while the Slytherins moaned. Katie Bell got the Quaffle. Even after taking an iron ball to the back of the head, she still managed to fly with amazing agility and got the Quaffle past the Slytherin Keeper to give the Gryffindor another goal.

“KATIE BELL SCORES!” Lee cried. “So, after that blatant foul—”

“Jordan, stay impartial,” warned McGonagall.

“Sorry, Professor,” said Lee. “After that play—which could have happened to anyone, I suppose—Slytherin gets the Quaffle. Flint passes to Pucey—Pucey back to Flint—Flint back to Pucey—OH! Pucey takes a Bludger and loses the Quaffle—Spinnet catches it and speeds away. Flint is on her tail—Spinnet gets the Quaffle to Johnson—Johson passes to Bell—Bell back to Johnson—Johnson throws—Bletchley blocks it and...THE SNITCH IS IN SIGHT!”

Harry saw it, flitting about the hoops on the Gryffindor side of the pitch. Harry flew straight at the hoops, followed close behind by the Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs. They were neck and neck as Harry dived downward after it. Higgs took longer to change course, which gave Harry more than a sizable lead. His eyes were fixed on the Snitch. There was nothing else in the world except him and the Snitch—

Until Flint blocked Harry, knocking him into a spin that had him holding on for dear life. Nearly all the stands roared with outrage. The Slytherins cheered the play.

“FOUL!” shouted Madam Hooch. “Blatching, Number 5, Slytherin. First warning. Free shot for Gryffindor.”

Madam Hooch took Flint away and gave him a stern lecture about fair play. Harry swore he heard his father, Dean, and several other Muggle-born students shouting “Red card! Send him off!” Angelina took the penalty shot and easily scored again. Harry flew back into the air again, scanning the air for the Snitch. He saw it hovering over the Slytherin hoops this time. Higgs was preoccupied with glowering at Madam Hooch as she told off Flint. Harry shot toward the Snitch.

As Harry flew after it again, his broom gave a lurch. He had never felt it do that before. He held on tightly, willing it to move forward.

The broom lurched again, almost as if it were trying to buck him off. It zigzagged through the air in an attempt to throw Harry in any direction it could. Harry tried to turn the broom to someone, but it wouldn't budge. The broom rose higher and higher in the air, making violent swishing motions every so often that nearly unseated him.

He felt like he was a story higher than the highest stands when the broom gave one last buck that finally threw Harry off. He caught the broom with both hands and held on tight. The broom shook repeatedly. Harry fought to keep a grip on the broom as it kept trying to shake him. A more pressing need to hold on flooded his senses as he saw the tail of the broom rising into the air.

*****HPG*****

“What's wrong with his broom?” Susan asked in fright. Most of the people in the stands shared her sentiments as they watched Harry's Nimbus rise into the air and trying to shake him off.

“Did something happen when Flint hit him?” Hermione asked.

“It takes more than that to mess with a broomstick,” said Hagrid as he watched in apprehension. “Dark Magic is just about the only thing that can do it.”

“Hagrid, give me the binoculars,” Hermione demanded. Hagrid quickly gave them to her. She peered through them, scanning the stands. Her heart clenched as she saw her mum and dad watching in abject horror as their son held on for dear life as his broom shook him off it.

What she saw behind them made her angry. Professor Snape sat perfectly still, staring unblinking at the spot in the sky where Harry's broom hovered and shook him. He was muttering something to himself, never taking his eyes off Harry for a moment.

“Look at Snape,” she whispered, handing the binoculars to Ron. Ron looked where she told him to.

“That bleeding git,” he growled. “What should we do?”

“You stay here,” said Hermione, barging past everyone staring agape at the sight over their heads.

*****HPG*****

The broom shook more and more. Harry felt his grip slipping with every movement of the broom. One shake broke his grasp in his left hand. If he didn't keep a hold of the broom, he'd surely plummet.

*****HPG*****

Hermione raced past everyone until she got to the teacher's seats. She inched past everyone standing about, staring agape at the boy in the precarious situation above them. A gasp from the rest of them raised her gaze to her brother. He was dangling by only one hand now. He flailed about trying to get a firm grasp again. Hermione willed herself to focus on the situation more and more. She looked at her parents, staring helplessly at Harry fighting to stay on. She looked at Snape still unmoving, still imposing his will on the broom.

The bell clanged three times. Flint and the other Chasers had taken advantage of the situation and scored thirty points for Slytherin. A slight sneer began to curl her lip, but she had to focus on what was happening right here and now.

Hermione looked about the crowd, trying to figure out a good distraction that would break Snape's curse. She soon found what she was looking for.

Next to Snape was an elderly woman whimpering at the sight in the sky. Next to her was a scattering of rubbish. As she looked around, she saw little heaps of rubbish massed about the feet of everyone in the section. Hermione inched past the spectators in the row behind the woman. She conjured some flames—little blue ones that she learned to create in her free time within Ravenclaw Tower—and tossed them onto the trash at their feet. They quickly caught flame. The elderly woman saw the fire by her and screamed “Fire!”

While Snape stayed focused on Harry, Hermione's distraction worked on everyone else. At the word “Fire!” everyone screamed and ran for the exits as fast as they could. Two people knocked Snape over in an effort to get away. Professor Quirrell yelped as someone shouldered past him and another stepped on his foot and slapped him in their escape. Hermione's plan worked as she looked up and saw her brother getting back onto his broom.

*****HPG*****

The broom stopped shaking. It hovered high in the air as it dangled him over the ground far below. He watched in shock and even greater relief as it stopped. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry swung up and got back on the broom. He flew straight down, right back to where he saw the Snitch. As he flew back to where the action was, the crowd roared with relief.

The Gryffindors quickly rallied back, knocking the Quaffle out of Flint's hands and flying right back to the Slytherin hoops.

He looked around and saw Higgs flying after the Snitch, near the Ravenclaws' section. Harry flew with every bit of willpower. The wind whistled as he flew around the stands. He reached Higgs and flew right past him with such force that it sent Higgs into a spin and sent him crashing into the stands. The Snitch dove toward the ground and Harry followed. The grass of the pitch became larger and larger. Harry screamed as he collided with the ground. Or, he would have, if something hadn't flown down his throat.

*****HPG*****

The crowd gasped as they watched Harry Potter-Granger hit the ground and tumble in a somersault once, twice, thrice, four times before coming to stop, laying flat on his stomach.

Hermione raced through the stands to come up beside her parents, watching in deepest worry as their son lay unmoving. Nobody made a sound as they watched him.

Finally, he slowly got onto all fours, then rose onto his knees. He was clasping at his mouth and his neck, like he couldn't breathe.

*****HPG*****

_Breathe_ , he thought.

_I need to breathe. I need air._ He couldn't will the air into his lungs. He was choking. He couldn't stop it.

_Get this thing out. I have to breathe..._

Wood and Madam Hooch flew to his side. Wood ran up to him, asking Harry if he was all right when it was obvious he clearly wasn't.

He could only mouth what he desperately wanted to say. “Help me...”

Madam Hooch saw what was wrong right away. “Hold him still, Mr Wood,” she told him. Wood went around and held Harry's arms at his side.

She pulled out her wand and muttered a spell. Something hit Harry in the stomach harder than a bully's punch. Harry nearly doubled over, but Wood held him up. Madam Hooch cast the spell at him again. This time, he coughed and the thing lodged in his throat flew out of his mouth. He broke his right arm free and caught the thing as it popped out into the air. The glint of gold in the sunlight told Harry he had what he was put in the game for. The golden ball's silvery wings fluttered until they were still and curled back into its round body. He had caught the Snitch.

Three sharp whistles pierced the air as Madam Hooch blew her whistles. She cried aloud for all to hear, “THE SNITCH IS CAUGHT! THE MATCH IS OVER! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

The din that erupted from the Gryffindor stands was enormous. Everyone cheered and stomped so much Harry worried that another troll got loose so it could see the match. The Gryffindor team flew down to congratulate him. Fred & George tousled his hair. Each of the girls flew down and gave a pack on the cheek. Wood shouted and pumped his fist in the air.

The Slytherin team flew to the ground arguing that the win wasn't a fair one. Higgs argued that Harry's catch should have been called as Snitchnip. Flint argued that Harry had Blatched Higgs by blowing him off-course when he flew past. Madam Hooch wouldn't hear any of it, saying firmly that Snitchnip applied only to players who weren't the Seeker catching the Snitch, and argued further that Blatching was strictly collision with intent to harm, and that Harry never collided with him. She ended it there and left the Slytherin team fuming over their loss.

The team walked off the pitch. Harry looked up and saw his parents watching with great relief that Harry survived. Harry changed out of his kit as quickly as he could and went out to meet them. Hermione ran up to him and threw her arms around him.

“I'm fine, 'Mione,” he told her playfully, prying her loose, only to be taken up in a hug from his mother.

“I'm so glad you're all right,” Jean said. “Your throat's all right?”

“Yes, it's fine, Mum,” Harry said in exasperation, stopping her from actually looking in his mouth.

“You didn't break anything after you hit the ground?”

“No, mum,” Harry told her.

Laurence stepped up, moving Jean away. “Jean, stop fretting,” he said. “Harry's all right. Thank goodness.”

Laurence gave his son a hug and slapped him on the back. “But, you are all right?”

“Yes, Dad, I'm okay,” Harry said.

“Good,” his father said. Come on, Hagrid's invited us to his hut for some tea. We shouldn't keep him waiting.”

“Could our friends come along?” asked Harry.

“Hagrid already took them over,” said Laurence.

The family walked from the pitch to the gamekeeper's hut. As the hut came closer into view, Harry saw Hagrid had set up his table and several chairs outside. His friends had set up the bedsheet banner they drew on the side of Hagrid's hut.

Ron, Susan and Neville ran up to congratulate him, as did Hagrid. The gamekeeper took Harry into a hug like the one he gave at the Leaky Cauldron. He put Harry down when Jean asked him and went about preparing sandwiches for all of them. Susan asked Harry if he was all right, and again Harry had to assure her he was. Hagrid set out a plate of his rock cakes for all of them, but Harry and Hermione warned them that their teeth barely survived the cakes the first time around. Only Neville took one out of politeness and nearly broke a tooth on the first bite.

Laurence and Jean spoke with Hagrid about Quidditch as he finished preparing the food. He opened a large bottle of ale while he made more roast beef sandwiches. Laurence took a glass when Hagrid offered him one.

“That whole match was...harrowing, to say the least,” said Laurence, still astonished by what he saw on the pitch. “Are all matches like that?”

“Oh, aye,” said Hagrid, taking a swig of his drink. “A lot of them have that pace about them. That's why it's so popular with all the Magical community.”

“I hope the next one is a little less...suspenseful, for Harry's sake,” said Jean, still shaken somewhat by seeing her son nearly fall from his broomstick from such a great height. “Dumbledore and McGonagall will look into what happened with Harry's broom, won't they?”

“They will, no doubt about that,” Hagrid assured her. “Not many things can affect a broomstick like that. I still can't imagine what would have done it in the first place.”

“It was Snape,” Ron said, in a very matter-of-fact tone. “He was cursing Harry's broom. Hermione and I saw him doing it.”

“It was a jinx, not a curse,” Hermione replied, correcting him. “But, yes, Snape did it.”

“Nonsense!” Hagrid called out. “Snape wouldn't do anything of the sort.”

“Yes, he would,” Harry retorted defiantly. “He hates me.”

“He doesn't hate you,” Hagrid replied. “He just...favours his own house above the rest.”

“Then why single him out in every one of his classes?” asked Hermione. “Why would the professor treat him so horribly if that weren't the case?”

“I don't know why,” Hagrid responded. “Snape doesn't always treat you so unkindly, Harry. Remember Halloween?”

“That was just one day,” replied Harry. “One day counts for nothing if he treats me like filth every other day of the year.”

“Be that as it may, I just know that Snape wouldn't do anything that would result in a student's death.”

“Not even releasing a troll into the school?”

The kettle came to a boil. Hagrid took it off the fire and poured the water in the teapot. “Snape wasn't anywhere near it 'til you brought it down. Even if he did have something to do with that, what good would it've done 'im?”

“He would have used it as a distraction.”

“For what?”

“To get past the three-headed dog.”

Hagrid dropped his tea kettle with a clatter and looked up at Harry in shock, joining Laurence and Jean in their shocked looks.

“There's a three-headed dog in this school?” asked Jean in shock.

“Why would anyone keep something like that in a school?” cried Laurence.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” Hagrid asked, shocked but more angry than that.

Everyone looked at Hagrid in shock.

“Fluffy?” Ron yelled indignantly.

“You named a three-headed dog Fluffy?” Jean asked in disbelief.

“That thing _has_ a name?” cried Susan, just as put off as Ron.

“Of course he's got a name, he's mine!” Hagrid shouted. “I found him as a pup when I was on holiday in Crete. Had a hell of a time getting him over here. Then, Dumbledore asked if he could use him to guard the—”

“Guard the what?” Harry asked, pouncing at the statement.

“I'm not allowed to say and you're not allowed to be asking,” Hagrid said. “That's top secret.”

“But, Snape is trying to steal what Fluffy's guarding,” Harry cried.

“No, he is not,” Hagrid stated sternly. “Professor Snape is a Hogwarts teacher.”

“He's a Hogwarts teacher who tried to kill my brother!” Hermione said. “We saw him. Jinxes require unbroken eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all.”

“That's absolutely right!” shouted Ron.

Hagrid brought himself to his full height, glaring at the children with a stern face. The gamekeeper's glower had the desired effect, compounded by Laurence and Jean adding their own stern looks as well. “Now, you kids listen to me right now, and listen well. That dog is there for a good reason, which is none of your damn business. Stay away from Fluffy, and stay well away from Snape. Dumbledore trusts him, and so should you. Whatever that dog is guarding is purely the business of Professor Dumbledore and his friends.”

“What friends?” Harry asked.

“You finish your tea and have some sandwiches,” Hagrid told them. “Then, go back to the castle and celebrate your win. It won't be as easy the next time.”

They went back to having their tea. Nobody said anything more about Snape or Fluffy or any matters relating to the two. When they all were finished, Hagrid walked them all back to the castle, giving the children one last warning and wishing Laurence and Jean a safe trip back home.

Once Hagrid was gone, Laurence told Ron, Susan, and Neville, “Why don't you all get going? We need to have a chat with Harry and Hermione.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you all,” Jean told them.. They all smiled and said their goodbyes to Laurence and Jean. Ron and Susan headed upstairs while Neville went to the kitchens, leaving the Granger family to speak amongst themselves.

“We do not want you kids to get into trouble,” Jean said sternly to the both of them. “Do what Hagrid told you and stay clear of Professor Snape unless you have class with him.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Harry nearly cried.

“You need to speak with Professor McGonagall,” Laurence told his son, “and you do not confront him.”

“He tried to kill Harry!” Hermione cried.

“We believe you, both of you,” said Laurence, “but confronting Professor Snape is not the answer, unless you can prove he truly did it. He is a wizard whose Magic is leaps and bounds beyond what you both are capable of doing. If you confront him without anything to prove he was culpable, at the very least, he'll treat you even worse in class. If it turns out you were wrong about him—”

“But, I'm not!” Harry interjected.

“If it turns out you're wrong,” Laurence finished, ignoring his son's interruption, “you could be facing a multitude of issues ranging from whatever the school decides to do to you to Lord only knows what he would want to do to you personally. At worst, he might try to finish what he started. You have to be smart about this.”

“Harry,” his mother said calmly. “Your father is right. This is something you need to bring up with Professor McGonagall. If need be, speak with Dumbledore as well.”

“Neither of you trust him,” said Harry. “Why should I?”

“Because he's the one who's truly in charge,” said his mother. “Regardless of what we think of him, having the Headmaster on your side may very well keep Snape at bay. Bring this up with Professor McGonagall first.”

“You should get back to your schoolmates,” Laurence said. “They'll want to celebrate your win as well, Harry.”

Jean gave them each a kiss on the cheek and urged them both to stay safe and look out for each other. Harry told her it was the only thing he wanted after what happened at the match. Laurence hugged his daughter and son, before nudging them in the direction of their Houses.

“Remember what we told you, Harry,” his father said before he went inside.

“I will, Dad,” Harry replied.

“And Harry?”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Damn good job today, son,” his father proudly told him. “Kick arse in the next match for me, won't you?”

“I will, Dad,” Harry said, watching his parents walk away to the castle gates, led by Filch.

Harry and Hermione went up the stairs. As they got to the point where they would normally split to their respective Houses, harry stopped her and said, “There's something I have to tell you.”

He went on to tell her about the dream he had the night before, about the Snitch shedding its skin in flight and changing into different colours, about the storm shaking him off his broom and the face it changed into before it finally threw him off.

“You played in the match even though you knew what would happen?” Hermione almost shouted.

“I couldn't just back away from being in the match,” Harry replied. “What would everyone have thought of me then?”

“Harry, you have these dreams because something horrible happens in them and then in real life.”

“Not when we went to King's Cross.”

“Yes, but what about the Zoo Incident, or the handfuls of times before that?”

“What about the Snitch in this dream?” Harry asked her, not wanting to go over every single dream he had.

“What about it?”

“Why would it be changing colours?”

“I don't know, Harry. What colours were they again? Black, white—”

“Then yellow,” Harry said.

“You would think it had something to do with Hufflepuff.”

“That's what I thought at first, but theirs are just black and yellow. There's no white as part of their colours.”

“Black white, and yellow... There wasn't another colour to come after?”

“It was about to change, but it flew away the storm came closer.”

“I don't think we're going to find out what it might be tonight. Don't think about this stuff right now. You should go have fun. You deserve it.”

Harry gave her a great big hug.

“I'm glad you're okay,” Hermione told him.

“So am I,” he replied.

They broke apart and Hermione went off to Ravenclaw.

As Harry got to the Gryffindor Common Room, everything was in full swing. Fred & George had got food from the kitchens smuggled into Gryffindor Tower, along with enough drinks for the whole House.

The party got more raucous when everyone realised that Harry had come in. Everyone came up to congratulate him and tell him what a terrific Seeker he was. Seamus told him he was just as good, if not better than the Seeker from the Kestrels. Percy thanked him for winning the match, saying that it was more than a welcome relief after studying for O.W.L.'s all day, though that reminded him he needed to get back to studying.

The revelry lasted until midnight. When the last of the partygoers went upstairs, Harry sat alone by the fireplace. He stared into it, expecting it to show him what he wanted to see from the rest of the previous night's dream. That Snitch changed colours for a reason. It had to to be about what that dog Fluffy was guarding.

The colours of the Snitch flashed in his mind over and over again.

Black, white, yellow... Black, white, yellow... Black, white, yellow...

This was going to bother him for days on end unless he figured it out as soon as he could. That order of colours must have something to do with the thing Snape wanted. What could it possibly be? Whatever it was, Snape wanted it so badly he would put a child's life in danger.

Harry relented that there was little chance he would figure out this mystery overnight, so he decided to go to bed.

He got up and went up to his dormitory, planning to speak with Professor McGonagall first thing in the morning about what he suspected of Snape. He lay in bed, worried about what the next day would bring, but grateful that he got through the match reasonably okay and won it as well. He beat Slytherin that day. He could take on the other teams and win it all.

Despite his assured thoughts that he would get McGonagall on his side, or at least get her to consider that Snape was capable of such an act, he was still anxious about what would come of the following day. It took him a while to drift off to sleep, but he finally managed it. His dreams came to be nothing but objects of all shapes and sizes changing from black to white to yellow, over and over and over again, with a growing storm on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, here's Chapter 12 for you all. In regards to Harry and James's number in this version, I decided not to give him the number 7 because of a thought I had about Quidditch and superstition in sports. I thought that, in the Quidditch community, whether it be pro, amateur or varsity, the number 7 is considered cursed or unlucky because it puts more pressure on the player that wears it and/or brings an ill fate upon their career.
> 
> When it came to Fluffy, I changed those origins because I thought it funnier to imagine Hagrid smuggling a three-headed dog into the country from Greece.
> 
> The dream was the first thing I really wrote for this story and it felt more natural than anything I tried to write in regards to the dreams in this story. As such, all the others that follow will be set up more like this one.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading!


	13. Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Thirteen  
**Presents**

 

The school had been abuzz about the match the day before. The Gryffindors were still boisterous from the win and reminded every Slytherin of their loss the previous day. The only one who tried to poke fun at Harry was Malfoy, who made several attempts at mocking him by doing impressions of Harry trying to stay on his broomstick. No one, save for Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, thought it was funny. Everyone thought Harry had done a great job of keeping hold of his broom and not falling to his death. Malfoy eventually gave up on trying to get a rise out of Harry that way, and went back to mocking him for being raised by Muggles.

When he got to the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, Harry was about to sit and eat when he saw McGonagall had just arrived. He went to Hermione and directed her gaze to the staff table. The siblings went up to her and Harry said, “Professor, may we speak to you privately?”

The Deputy Headmistress had been ready to start her meal when she replied. “What is this about?”

“Concerns about what happened to Harry yesterday,” Hermione told her. They had her full attention. The professor glanced briefly over at Snape, who was focused on his meal. The professor set down her flatware and led the children to the door at the back of the Hall. They walked down the corridor until they were well out of earshot of the rest of the Hall.

“Professor, we're worried that—”

“You believe that Snape was behind the attack,” McGonagall asked them. It put them off a little that she knew what they were thinking. No doubt knowing they were discomposed by her interruption, McGonagall told them, “Hagrid sent me a note regarding your worries shortly after your tea with him. Please, speak your mind while you have the chance.”

Harry and Hermione quickly explained that they did believe Snape was behind the jinx put on Harry's broom at the Quidditch match the day before. Hermione added how she saw the Potions Master staring at Harry, unblinking and muttering to himself while Harry dangled and held on for his life. Throughout their explanations, McGonagall looked upon them with an impassive expression. When they finished, she still said nothing.

“You must understand that I do not take kindly to hearing an accusation brought against a teacher,” she said with a very stern edge. “Such an accusation could harm their career and their personal life.”

“But, we saw Snape jinxing Harry's broom,” Hermione nearly shouted. “Ronald and I did, I mean, and Hagrid. Not to mention, Harry's broom stopped shaking once those commotions around him broke his eye contact.”

“And I believe you,” McGonagall replied. “As I said, I do not take kindly to hearing a teacher accused of an attack such as this, but I hold any attempt on a student's life in a far worse regard. You have my word that I will look into your claims against Professor Snape, and I will bring them to the attention of the Headmaster as well.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry told her, feeling much more confident about McGonagall being on their side.

McGonagall led them back to the Great Hall. She sat herself back at her spot at the staff table while Harry and Hermione went back to their House tables. Harry felt like someone was watching him as he sat back down. When he looked back up, he caught sight of Snape staring at him through half-squinted eyes that felt like they were boring into Harry's soul.

Harry wanted nothing more than to bring him down at that very moment, but resigned himself to imagining that it was the Potion Master's face he was tearing apart as he ate his scrambled eggs.

*****HPG*****

The day after they explained their worries to Professor McGonagall, everyone got a great surprise when Hagrid showed up at McGonagall's class. The professor had been teaching them more about the history of Transfiguration and how it was thought early wizards had first discovered how to accomplish it. She had their unbroken attention, much more so than Professor Binns would have had. She was about ready to explain what the ancient Egyptians had discovered when the gamekeeper burst into the classroom.

Hagrid came in, thoroughly flustered from what appeared to be a full run from wherever he had been. Standing at the threshold, he told her, “Minerva, we need to talk.”

“I am in the middle of a lesson, Hagrid,” she replied. “Whatever you have to say can wait until we are finished here.”

“I just got a warning,” Hagrid told her, adding with a grim note of finality, “from Ronan.”

The Deputy Headmistress looked shocked at what the gamekeeper told her. Everyone else was confused about what Hagrid had said. Who was Ronan?

McGonagall gathered herself up and addressed the class.

“We shall resume our lesson tomorrow,” she told them all. “You will study the rest of the chapter from today's class, and write a summary of the topics covered.”

Nobody moved. Everyone was too surprised to do anything, since Professor McGonagall never ended a lesson early.

“Everyone get going, and enjoy the rest of your day,” she said in a manner more like her. “Heaven only knows when you'll get to leave this early again.”

At that, everyone packed up their things and filed out of the classroom. They were confused about having to leave early, but they weren't complaining about it either. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the library, but Harry feigned a need to go to the toilet, then sneaked back to the classroom. He remembered what his father told him about eavesdropping, but he couldn't help but be intrigued about what the gamekeeper and the Deputy Headmistress spoke of in worried whispers. He had come in on the middle of their talk.

“—whatever did it took every drop of blood from the poor thing,” he heard Hagrid saying as he came into earshot of the conversation. “It's got Bane in a right state.”

“It doesn't take much to bring about that reaction from him,” McGonagall replied.

“Aye, but now he's got a good reason. They're under his tribe's protection. For the time bein', Ronan and Firenze have got him under control, but if another one dies, we might face retaliation. They're gettin' antsy out there, all of them. Keep sayin' that calamity's comin'. Not like we haven't heard that before, but...”

“But you think whatever killed it is after the treasure?” asked the professor.

“It has to be. No one goes and does that, not unless they don't have another choice. An' there's always another choice when it's comes to that. They want what we're hiding in the castle.”

“That much is obvious,” McGonagall muttered. “Bane truly thinks we were responsible?”

“He thinks we're responsible just for bringing that thing into the castle,” Hagrid told her. “Ronan says Bane's startin' to believe we did the poor thing in ourselves.”

“Surely, he couldn't—”

“He distrusts the lot of us. He don't think any of us above something like this. 'Less we prove otherwise, he'll keep believin' it.”

“What else did Ronan tell you?”

“Nothing beyond what I just told ya.”

“Does Dumbledore know about any of this?”

“Told him right before I told you,” said Hagrid. “I didn't want to tell too many people. You and Dumbledore were the ones needed to know right away.”

“Good. You had best keep it that way.”

“I hope the Petries appreciate us going out of our way to help them,” said Hagrid.

“They had better,” said McGonagall. “If they don't, I'll make certain they regret living as long as they have.”

The footfalls growing louder and closer sent Harry running away so they wouldn't catch him listening to their conversation. His mind was racing as he ran away from McGonagall's classroom. Someone had killed something and it had the staff worried. Who were the Petries, and why did that name sound so familiar?

Then, he remembered. The Petries were the couple who helped McGonagall right after her attack. Whatever Fluffy was guarding belonged to them. McGonagall must have been taking it back to them from Gringotts. But now, it was here and not with them. How?

Harry got to the library, his mind still abuzz from what he heard and from what he was thinking. Ron and Hermione had been joined by Susan and Neville. They all looked upon him in surprise. He sat down beside Hermione and their friends and explained to them what he heard in McGonagall's classroom. They blanched when he mentioned the killing, though they stayed intrigued when he said they hadn't said what had been killed in the woods.

“You haven't heard of anyone on the staff named Ronan, have you?” Harry asked Hermione.

“No,” replied Hermione. “There's no one on the staff by that name.”

“What about Bane or Firenze?”

“No one on the school's staff have those names either, Harry.”

“Well, if they're not part of the staff, then who are they? Where do they come from?”

Everyone looked around the table without an answer, until Ron spoke up. “I've heard all of my brothers talk about people that live in the Dark Forest,” Ron said.

“No one lives in the Dark Forest,” Hermione replied. “That's just ridiculous.”

“Where else could they come from?” asked Harry.

“Lots of places,” Hermione retorted. “They could be people from the Ministry—”

“Then, why would Hagrid get the message first?” Susan asked. “A message from the Ministry meant for McGonagall or Dumbledore would go straight to either of them, not the gamekeeper.”

“It's more believable than there being anyone that lives out in the woods,” Hermione said back to her.

“It's not unheard of that people live out there,” Neville said. “Gran told me that, when she was a student here, she thought she saw people out there.”

“What did they look like?” Ron asked.

“She didn't get a proper look at them,” Neville recounted. “She said they were on horseback and rode through the woods.”

“If there were really people living in the woods, we'd all know about it,” Hermione said.

“What else lives out there?” Harry asked.

“Lots of things do,” Ron replied. “Werewolves, giant spiders, and Fred & George swear they escaped a bunch of Red Caps one time.”

“They also claim that they brought down a giant just outside of Blackpool,” Susan replied sarcastically.

“They might tell tall tales from time to time,” said Ron, “but there are things like that in the woods. I wouldn't want to get near any of the spiders.”

“Would any of those things being killed anger someone like Ronan?” asked Harry.

“It shouldn't,” said Hermione. “A giant spider getting killed might get someone like Hagrid angry, but not scared as you say he and McGonagall were.”

The subject left everyone worried and wondering what could have happened and what could have died to make everyone scared about what it might bring to everyone.

“There was something else,” Harry told them. “They said this had to do with the Petries.”

“With who?” asked Neville. Harry explained what the article about McGonagall's attack said about the people who helped her and took her to hospital. He went on by saying that both Hagrid and McGonagall spoke about how the business in the third-floor corridor was to help them.

“Did they say what it is they were hiding?” asked Hermione.

“No, they didn't,” answered Harry.

“It has to be important if the school is going to these sorts of length for them,” said Hermione.

“Is it any of our business, though?” asked Neville. Everyone looked at him. He went on, “Should we really be looking into it?”

“Professor Snape tried to kill Harry,” said Hermione. “He wants what is in the corridor and if we don't find out what it is he's after, we won't be able to stop him.”

“Who says we could?” asked Susan. “How could we stop him anyway?”

“We can't just sit back and do nothing,” Hermione said back to her. “We have to find a way to stop him.”

“How?” said Ron.

“We need to find who the Petries really are,” said Harry. “What they do, how they're really connected to the school, if they really are who they say they are.”

“I'll find out what I can,” said Hermione.

“If you three hear anything else, you let us know,” Harry said to Ron, Susan, and Neville.

“I can't promise anything,” Susan said, while the boys said the same response. They all left the library without another word. The thoughts about the Petries and what was happening in regards to Hagrid and the person called Ronan ran through his mind over and over. He had no idea what could have been killed that would scare the staff so badly. Nor did he have any idea who the Petries truly were or if they were really important people. Why was all this so important?

*****HPG*****

Christmas neared closer as the school year passed into December. As the month progressed onto the winter holidays, their classes grew more difficult. Hermione got at them more and more to focus on their homework because the assignments grew more and more complex. As much as it got to them, they still went with her strong suggestions to focus hard on their schoolwork.

Snape and McGonagall were the hardest on all of them. Their coursework kept nearly everyone occupied. Snape treated everyone just as malevolently as he always had, criticising everyone every chance he got.

Harry and Hermione's parents sent them letters saying that they were looking forward to seeing them when they came down for Christmas. Ron looked glum about the coming holidays.

When Harry asked about it, Ron told him that his parents had changed their holiday plans at the last minute. “They're going to Romania to visit my brother Charlie,” he explained. “They could only bring my sister along this year and said they were sorry about it.”

“Why don't you come visit our home for Christmas?” Harry suggested. “We'd love to show you our house. Wouldn't we, Hermione?”

Hermione wasn't nearly as convinced, but still went with Harry's suggestion. “I think Mum and Dad would be all right about you coming home with us.”

“I don't want to impose,” Ron said unsurely.

“You're not imposing, I'm inviting you,” said Harry. “Let me write my parents and see what they have to say.”

Harry wrote his parents a note and sent it with Hedwig. The next evening, Harry got their reply, with both Laurence and Jean saying they would be happy to welcome Harry's friend into their home for the holidays, and thanking him for asking and not just bringing him along to surprise them at the last minute.

Ron was grateful to be invited along. He thanked Harry and Hermione and went on to ask what he could bring that wouldn't violate any Wizards' statutes against Muggles knowing about Magic.

When the time came to board the train, they got themselves a compartment with Susan and Neville. Susan spoke about how her parents were taking her down to Cornwall to visit her grandparents, while Neville recounted how his great-uncle Alfie still tried to get him to prove he could do magic. It shocked them that Neville's great-uncle threw him out of a window in order to prove Neville really was a wizard, but that worked out just fine with Neville having bounced off the ground until he came to a stop.

“I didn't really do any magic until then,” said Neville.

“Is that fairly common?” asked Harry.

“Most young witches and wizards don't show any magical capability until they're five or six,” Susan explained. “For Neville not to show it until he was eight isn't spectacular, but it isn't unheard of.”

“But I still have to prove to Uncle Alfie that I'm still a wizard,” said Neville rather glumly.

“Why is that?” asked Hermione.

“I am a Hufflepuff, Hermione,” Neville said simply but sadly.

An awkward silence followed. Nobody could think a reply to that, although Ron tried to say a few things he thought were noteworthy about Neville. That only led to an even more awkward silence until Neville spoke about how Hufflepuff would trounce Gryffindor in the next match. Harry quickly told Neville the Hufflepuff Seeker wouldn't stand a chance and that he would fly circles around Diggory's head. The compartment grew more lively as the discussion grew more and more contentious as they discussed the next match. Hermione had rolled her eyes when they suggested she'd turn against Harry when the time came for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw to play.

They got to give Ron a large amount of grief when he revealed he was a Chudleigh Thursday supporter.

“They're the worst in the League!” Susan cried.

“They've always been my favourite,” said Ron.

“They wind up in last place every year,” said Neville. “Puddlemere is so much better than them.”

“Then you can cheer for them,” Ron replied defensively, “and I'll stick with Chudleigh.”

The rest of the trip was spent discussing which Quidditch team had the best chance of winning the League Cup that year. Everyone agreed that either Puddlemere or the Prides had the best shot, while Ron remained steadfast that his Cannons could take everyone by surprise. Hermione pored over the book she had while everyone argued about it.

*****HPG*****

The train pulled into King's Cross. Parents waited at the platform when the train finally came to a stop. The children filed out of the carriages and joined their parents on the platforms. Susan and Neville said their goodbyes and went off to meet their families. Laurence and Jean took their children into a large group hug. Seeing Ron was left out of it, Jean said, “Ronald, come on in here. You're part of the family this Christmas.”

She pulled him into the hug before he could refuse. Harry could see that Ron was grateful for that.

The trip back to their home was just as odd as when they took Professor McGonagall in their car, if not even more so. Ron would ask about everything they passed, staring in wonder at everything around Muggle London, bewildered by how anyone built anything without magic, but just as scared as the professor had been of passing cars.

Showing Ron around the Granger House bewildered him even more. Ron would ask everyone every question he could think of about all of their belongings. He tested out each and every one of the kitchen appliances (with Jean scrambling to stop him from sticking his hand in the already-running blender.) He repeatedly flicked the light switches on and off. When Harry and Hermione sat down to watch a sci-fi programme they both enjoyed, he kept wondering aloud how they shrank the little men and women and got them inside the television.

Ron spent much of the next day asking Laurence and Jean about their jobs and what they entailed. Jean tried to explain what went into learning about medicine and all the different procedures, but Ron went into all the Healing Charms, Spells, and Potions that would have the same effect. It put Jean off a little to hear that medicine could be reduced to so little work, but it fascinated her enough that she didn't speak up about it.

With Laurence, Ron went into the different kinds of law-enforcement officers that served in the Ministry. He had to clarify to Laurence the difference between the Hit Wizards and the Aurors. Then, he had to stress that the Hit Wizards weren't wizards that killed people. Despite all of that, Laurence discussed the structure of the Ministry, as best as Ron understood it, with Ron for hours on end.

The children spent the rest of the holidays up until Christmas playing games. Ron taught Harry and Hermione some of the games that wizards played in their free time. Wizard's chess turned out to be just like regular chess, aside from the fact that the pieces moved by their own will and actually fought each other. Many times, the pieces spoke to the players with their own suggestions about where to move and belittled the player when they made a bad move. They played Exploding Snap, a card game that featured exploding cards that players had to get rid of as quickly as they could. Jean made them stop playing that after one game left all three with faces like they'd just escaped a fire. Ron refused to show them how to play Gobstones because he didn't want to wind up smelling horrible at the end of the game and because he didn't have his own set. He and Harry mostly played wizards' chess while Hermione either studied nearby or watched their matches.

Christmas finally came, with Harry and Ron excitedly waking up to find presents at the foot of their beds.

“Merry Christmas!” they both said to each other and quickly got to opening their presents.

Laurence and Jean had given Ron a book on electricity (probably because it had fascinated him so much) as well as a bag of Muggle coins and bank notes. Both presents fascinated him to no end, the book most of all. Seeing Ron reading it voraciously made Harry wondered if his friend was realted to Hermione in some way. No sooner had he thought that than Hermione came in shortly after they woke up to give them their presents. Ron got a box of Chocolate Frogs, while Harry got a new pair of Quidditch goggles. Harry had given her the one book she had most wanted all year, and he also gave Ron another book, this one about airplanes.

“My dad's going to be so jealous,” Ron cried. “He's always wanted to know this sort of stuff.”

Hagrid had sent them each a little woodcarving he had done himself. Harry's was a flute that, when he played it, sounded like an owl. Ron and Hermione's were carvings of Magical creatures: Ron got a dragon; Hermione received a unicorn. Presents from Susan and Neville had come as well. Their friends had given them all sweets, Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans from Susan and Licorice Wands from Neville.

The kids went downstairs to join Laurence and Jean. Harry smelled coffee as they descended the stairs as well as what he recognised as pancakes, bacon, and eggs. They heard some murmuring from the kitchen.

“She did this?” Jean asked. “All these years?”

“I'm as surprised as you are,” Laurence replied.

“Who is the other one from?” After a short pause, she said in a more hushed tone, “Oh my goodness...”

When the children came in, they soon saw what the Granger parents were talking about. Five parcels rested at the kitchen table. Four of them were like the anonymous presents Harry had received every year for Christmas. One was wrapped in green paper with black ribbons; the second in a maroon-coloured paper; the third in sky blue paper worthy of a Ravenclaw with bronze-coloured ribbons; the fourth, much larger than the others, was done in a navy blue paper like Laurence's dress uniform with silver ribbons. The last was wrapped in a deep purple paper with bright yellow ribbons. That present was significantly smaller than the others and far less lumpy as well.

The Granger parents looked up to see Harry, Hermione, and Ron just come downstairs. Laurence had set the purple package aside. Both he and Jean regarded it with the utmost suspicion.

“Five parcels this year?” Hermione asked, rather quizzically.

“Not really,” Laurence said. “We actually got four parcels like the one we would usually get. The green one is for Harry. The sky blue one is for you, Hermione.”

His statement left Harry and Hermione baffled. Hermione never got a present like the ones Harry got every year. She got jealous that he would and often wished she would receive one for herself, but the day had never come.

“The dark blue is for your mother and I,” Laurence continued, baffling his family even more, before he added, “and the maroon one is for Ron.”

Harry looked over at Ron and saw him going a light pink with what he thought was a mix of fear and embarrassment.

“Ron,” Laurence asked, “These are from your mother. Has she been sending Harry these presents for the last ten years?”

Ron stammered a bit, staring down at his feet. He sat down nervously, worried that he would be shouted at or something worse. The Granger family, however, were far from angry. Each of them were flummoxed to know their mystery gift-giver was one of their newest family friends.

“I forgot she'd be doing that again,” Ron admitted. “I was just paying attention to coming here.”

“Your mother has been sending Harry Christmas presents since he was a baby?” Laurence questioned the young boy. He asked the question not with an tone he would employ to a suspect, but rather spoke like a kind man just realising what kindness had been done for him.

Ron grew a bit shy, pleading, “Our family did. She always meant well by it. We did, I mean.”

“Ron,” Jean said, comforting her son's friend. “We're not accusing you or your mother of anything horrible, not in the slightest. We've always been astounded that someone did this for our son every year. We simply want to understand why she has been doing this, and why she's been doing it for so long.”

Ron shifted slighty, looking slightly less regretful, but still embarrassed. He sat down and began, “On Christmas Eve when I was eight, my mum and dad told all of us that Harry Potter had come to our house when he was a baby.

“You-Know-Who had just attacked him and his family. She and my dad told us it was pure bedlam that day. There was celebrating all over the country, but there was still some fighting, because all of You-Know-Who's followers hadn't been caught. The people that fought You-Know-Who, my mum and dad among them, were worried his followers would come after Harry Potter, thinking they would try to finish what You-Know-Who started. They moved him from home to home, not keeping him anywhere too long, not telling the last place where they'd be going next. Finally, they brought him to ours to hide until they could find a proper home for him. I don't remember it happening, but my older brothers do.

“It angered everyone so much that You-Know-Who would attack a child, and they retaliated with such fury that they won the last of the War in one day. When the fireworks lit the sky, everyone knew that the War was really over. We were all so happy.

Ron grew a bit more uneasy as he continued.

“In the middle of the night, they'd got word that Dumbledore had found a home for Harry. Then, they took him away to live there. My mum and dad fretted about it, worrying that Dumbledore would take Harry to a bad home, but they didn't know where he'd been taken, so they had no real way of knowing for certain what happened to him. They tried asking Dumbledore, but he told them the fewer people that knew where Harry went, the better. They didn't know what else they could do.

“So, on Christmas Eve of that year, she put together a care package for him, the sort of Christmas present my siblings and I get every year, like these. She put together some sweets, a little pie, and some hand-knit things as well. She sent it away to Harry's new home, not knowing where it would be or if it was a good one. She made it a tradition and we wound up doing it every year.”

The story recounted to them brought tears to their eyes. Jean got up and gave Ron a great big hug and a kiss on the forehead. Harry and Hermione gave their friend a big hug as well. Laurence brought the presents over to them, leaving only the purple one behind. Everyone took their gifts and unwrapped them, revealing in each one a hand-knitted jumper, a tin box full of homemade fudge, and several mince pies. The navy blue present was meant for both Laurence and Jean, since it had two jumpers in it and double the treats that Harry, Hermione, and Ron got in theirs.

Laurence and Jean's jumpers were both navy blue with silver cuffs, collar, and hem. Harry's was the same shade of green as the paper it was wrapped in. Hermione's, like her parents', matched both the paper and the ribbons of her present with sky blue for the body and bronze for the cuffs, collar, and hem. Ron's too matched the paper of his present, though his jumper had a large letter R on the front and he didn't look very pleased with the colour. Still, he wore it happily once he saw everyone was more than glad to wear theirs.

They all sat down for breakfast. Jean served up everything to them and they ate up everything just as quickly. Once they were done with breakfast, they sampled the baking that Mrs Weasley had sent them. Harry tasted a bit of the fudge and one of the mince pies. They were delicious, just as that had always been, and he saw that everyone else thought so as well.

“I have got to get this recipe,” said Jean, as she finished one of her mince pies. “Your mother's cooking is amazing, Ronald.”

“Thank you,” Ron replied.

“Who is that other present for?” Harry asked his father.

Laurence became uneasy at the subject. He picked up the letter affixed to the present and passed it to Harry, saying, “It's from Dumbledore to you.” On the front was a sealed letter, written in the neat script of their Headmaster, addressed to Harry. He quickly opened the envelope and read the letter.

 

_Dear Harry,_

_No doubt that you and your family know my handwriting by sight now. So, I'll not bother with vagueness any more. Your father, James, left this in my care before he died. It was time it was returned to you. Use it well._

_Happy Christmas to you all..._

_Sincerely,_

_Prof Albus Dumbledore_

 

Harry handed the letter to his father, who read it and gazed at the present with a great many misgivings. He untied the ribbons and tore open the paper to reveal a silvery cloak that appeared almost transparent. When Laurence picked it up to reveal it to everyone, Ron let out a gasp.

When everyone looked over at him, he explained, “I think that's an Invisibility Cloak! They're really rare.”

Harry took the Cloak in awe and draped it over his body. The looks on his family's faces and Ron's told him that Ron's guess was correct. When he looked down at his feet, he didn't see his body. He only saw the floor he stood on. Harry took off the Cloak and looked at it in even greater amazement.

“This was my dad's?” Harry asked.

“Apparently,” said Laurence. “Harry, this is not a good thing for a child to have.”

“Why not?”

“Your Headmaster is encouraging you to make trouble with this Cloak.”

“You don't know that.”

“Well, you don't know it's _not_ for that.”

“He says 'Use it well.' How would you use it?”

“I’d keep it here and away from making trouble at your school.”

“Laurence, let him have it,” said Jean.

“I will not let Harry use that Cloak for any troublemaking,” said Laurence most sternly.

“Then, let him have it,” Jean retorted, “tell him that he can't use it for anything that happens outside of his Common Room.”

“Fine,” he replied. To Harry, he said, “If I hear that you tried anything with this that got you detention, I'm taking it away. Understood?”

“Yes, Dad,” Harry said glumly, before Harry offered him a chance to wear the Cloak. Laurence grudgingly accepted, but wound up pretending that he was a floating head wondering where his body had gone. Everyone giggled and laughed as he continued his act, and then passed it off to Jean, who draped it over her head and did a poorly choreographed tap dance routine. The children giggled more and more as the night went on.

It was finally time for bed when Laurence told them to go that way. He folded up the Cloak and returned it to Harry, telling his son that he just wanted Harry to do the right thing and stay out of trouble, but that it was purely up to him.

“I just want to keep it close, Dad,” Harry said. “I don't want to cause trouble.”

“I'm sure you don't,” Laurence replied. “I just need you to understand that I worry about what Dumbledore's intentions really are.”

“I know, Dad.”

“If you want to keep it so you can have something belonging to your birth father, I won't stop you,” Laurence told him kindly. “I just want you to know where I stand on all this.”

“I do want it because of that,” Harry told him.

“Then, you'll keep it in your Common Room,” said Laurence. “Keep it to yourself. Don't use it outside of the Common Room. Don't let anyone borrow it. Agreed?”

Harry smiled as he held the Cloak. “Agreed,” he said to his father. Laurence gave him a big hug, then took the Cloak and draped it over his son.

“Oh, now, that's just rude,” Laurence said in a stern but playful tone. “Leaving me standing here like this, in the middle of a conversation.”

Harry giggled as his father mocked not knowing where his son stood. “Son, where did you go?”

He brought the Cloak down enough to uncover his head. “Dad, I'm right here,” he laughed.

Laurence feigned surprise as Harry unveiled himself. “There you are!” he cried.

Laurence toussled his son's hair before he gave his son a kiss on the temple, and sent him off to bed. Harry lay himself down. Ron was already fast asleep in his sleeping bag, snoring slightly and turning every so often. Ron sat up sharply, startled awake by something. Looking over at Harry, he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Thanks again for inviting me over here,” Ron said sleepily to his friend. “It really meant a lot.”

“Of course,” Harry replied. “Hey, Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“I really appreciate what you and your family did for me. All of it.”

“You're welcome, mate,” Ron replied kindly. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Ron went back to sleep. Harry stayed awake for a short while. He draped James's Cloak over himself and sat awake, thinking about the new gifts he had received that day and about the kindness shown to him in the past and the present. There wasn't any way he could put into so many words what it meant to him what Ron's family or all the other people had done for him, though he tried to express something like that before Ron went back to sleep. He couldn't describe, even to himself, how he felt about someone caring about him from afar for so many years. So many emotions ran through his mind and settled so deeply he couldn't think straight. Seeing the late hour, he resigned himself to lying down and drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, here's Chapter 13. Thanks for reading!


	14. The Mirror Gazes Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Fourteen  
**The Mirror Gazes Back**

 

The rest of their Christmas holidays passed rather uneventfully. The only heart-clenching moment that came to pass after Christmas was when Ron tried to see what would happen if he put his dinner fork in one of the electrical outlets. Thankfully, Laurence was nearby to keep him from personally experiencing the results. The Granger parents took Ron and their children back to King's Cross on the sixth of January and sent them onto the train with a delicious medley of sweets and biscuits that Jean had made with Hermione over the last of the holidays.

Before they left, Laurence took Harry aside for one last conversation.

“Remember what we talked about, son,” Laurence said.

“Don't get into trouble and keep the Cloak hidden,” Harry recited for his father. “And do not use the Cloak for any mischief or other shenanigans within the school.”

“Good lad,” said Laurence. He handed Harry one last present wrapped in true Gryffindor style, with scarlet paper and gold ribbons.

“This belonged to me when I was in university,” he told his son. Harry opened it to reveal a gold watch with a brown leather band.

“It's not as flash as some of those watches I saw in Diagon Alley,” Laurence said. “I meant to give it to you when we were so swept up in Mrs Weasley's gifts that I—”

Harry put the watch on and gave his father the strongest hug he could. Laurence returned it in kind. When they broke apart, Harry repeated his oath to stay out of trouble and joined his sister and their friend for the trip back to their school.

*****HPG*****

As the train neared the station outside Hogwarts, Harry held his new Invisibility Cloak in his hand. He gazed out at the snow-covered environs outside and at the castle beyond. He imagined his father donning the Cloak and wandering about the school. _If he had done that, he must have been a troublemaker_ , Harry thought to himself.

Why would James have the Cloak in the first place, if not to go out and get into trouble? What did Lily have to say about the whole thing? Whatever it was, it must have been to say he shouldn't be mucking about with it, or something to that extent.

Now that Harry had it, he pondered over what he ought to do with it. Tuck it away to bring out when he felt the need to connect with his past. Maybe he would use it to pull off a prank on Malfoy.

 _No_ , he reminded himself. _I promised Dad I wouldn't use this for any mischief._

“I can't find anything about them,” said Hermione, getting Harry's attention.

“Who?”

“Nick and Nell Petrie,” she explained. “There's nothing about them anywhere in any of the books I checked out from the library. Even the yearbooks don't have anything about them.”

“So, they're not wizards?” asked Harry.

“Yes, they are,” she said, chastising him. “A Muggle wouldn't have something that a wizard would think of as dangerous. Nick and Nell Petrie are wizards. They have to be. I just need to find out who they are and what they do.”

“You looked in every book you could get your hands on. How are you going to find out anything about them?”

“I got hold of everything I could find in the sections open to us. There still might be something in the Restricted Section.”

“The Restricted Section is restricted for a good reason,” said Ron. “How are you going to get in there?”

“Who said _I'm_ going to?” she asked, looking at her brother. Harry felt that uneasy feeling growing in his stomach.

“What are you looking at me for?” he asked his sister.

“You can get in, Harry.”

“I may be the Boy Who Lived to everyone, but I don't think I can get into this place just because of who I am.”

“Dumbledore gave you the best way to get in there,” she replied, nodding to the Cloak he had clutched in his hand.

“The Cloak?” he cried in disbelief. “You want me to break into the Restricted Section?”

“If there were any better way to get myself in there, I would.”

“You could ask permission from a teacher.”

“I could, for one and _only one specific_ book. There's no guarantee that I would find what I was looking for if I got permission to go in.”

“Can't you get a teacher to write you a day pass or something to spend in there so you could find what you needed?”

“Not possible,” Ron said.

“Why not?” asked Harry.

“Do you know why the Restricted Section is Restricted?” he asked the both of them. “Because it has books that speak of nothing but Dark Magic. Spellbooks that teach you how to torture and kill and all sorts of other horrible things. Potion books containing instructions for brewing every potion the Ministry has declared illegal.”

Ron's statement had them both dumbstruck.

“If that's what's in the Restricted Section, why do they have it in the school?” Harry asked in shock.

“Sixth- and seventh-years are allowed to look at the books in there without signed notes,” said Hermione. “And depending on what profession they wish to take up, they have to look exclusively in the Restricted Section for whatever they're studying.”

“That being said, how is Harry going to get in there?” asked Ron.

Harry looked out at the castle. There was so much he didn't know about Hogwarts, and so much he wanted to know about the place. He just wished there was some way he could see what else the school contained. Maybe there was someone who could show him—

And then he remembered.

“I might have an idea,” Harry told them.

*****HPG*****

Returning to school after winter holidays was just as Harry imagined it being. Teachers asked everyone to turn in their coursework assigned over the holidays. Snape had assigned the most of all of them and called on everyone to turn it all in the moment he stepped into the classroom. The few students who didn't finish it all, Ron and Neville among them, were made to finish every bit of it, along with writing a two-roll explanation on why they did not finish their work and how they would correct their behaviour when it came to turning in their work in a more punctual manner—all of it due the next day.

The biggest change to their lessons came when their next Defence Against the Dark Arts class took place. The kids came up to the classroom and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. Each child tried to force the door open, but it wouldn't permit any entry. It wasn't until Filch came up and scolded them that they knew why it was locked.

“This room is off-limits to anyone but the staff,” he growled. “What are you doing here?”

“We're here for Defence,” Hermione said. “Where is the class now?”

“How should I know?” the caretaker retorted. “Get going, and don't let me catch any of you here again!”

It took them all ten minutes to find out where the class would be from then on. When they found the classroom, Professor Quirrell stammered through an apology for them all and commenced their lesson.

The return of their studies kept Harry from enacting his plan for entering the Restricted Section of the Library. Astronomy, Herbology and Charms work kept him and his friends occupied for a few days of the week; Transfiguration and Potions took up the rest of it. Harry finally had his chance to put the plan into motion that Friday.

It was the first practice session for the Quidditch team. Wood ran them all ragged. He had Fred & George hitting the Bludgers at everyone every chance they got. He had Angelina, Alicia, and Katie flying lap upon lap upon lap until he thought they were quick enough. He shouted at them until he was hoarse and then shouted even more. The practice was finally over when he called them to the ground.

“They aren't the sort of pushovers on the pitch we think them in real life,” Wood said sternly to them all. “Diggory's one of the best Seekers around.”

“Oi!” Fred & George cried indignantly.

“Since Charlie left,” Wood added, relieving the twins of their offence. “Their Chasers are definitely not anyone to underestimate. Their Beaters are good with their aim. The Keeper is almost a wall. We practice our hardest and then some, we'll best them in no time.”

Wood gave them all a farewell and told them to keep fit. They all went to the locker room and changed out of their practice kits and into their school uniforms. Once they were out of the locker room, and halfway to the castle, Harry went up to the Weasley twins. When he got their attention, he asked them, in the sort of tone with which they would always employ their greetings, “You two got a minute?”

Fred began, “For you, Harry—”

“—we have several,” George finished.

Harry and the twins got to the castle, trudging up the steps and stepping aside to let everyone else go on their way. Wood was the last to go upstairs, leaving Harry and the twins alone. They led him to an empty classroom to talk.

“So,” said Harry. “How are things?”

“Very well, Harry,” said Fred.

“Very well, indeed,” said George.

“Good,” Harry replied. “Remember that day when you found me stuck in the staircase with the disappearing step?”

“Ah, yes, I recall that day,” George said wistfully.

“You were such a naïve little first-year,” added Fred.

“Still are,” said George.

“Yes, we must remedy that,” Fred said.

“How soon can you manage that?” Harry asked them eagerly.

The twins looked at him in surprise. With a grin, Harry said, “I remember you both saying something about a grand tour of the school.”

The twins' surprise changed to glee as they quickly understood what Harry was asking. “For the right price, yes,” they told him in unison.

“It was eight Galleons, right?” Harry asked them.

“Yes, it was,” said Fred.

“For the Exclusive Tour,” added George.

“There are two types of tours we offer,” Fred explained.

“The Grand Tour and the Exclusive Tour,” George clarified.

“The Grand Tour is just us showing you all the best shortcuts around the school,” said Fred.

“You're basically giving us five Gold to show you how to get to class better,” George added.

“But, the Exclusive Tour is all that, plus getting to see all the parts in which we meager students are not allowed to be.”

“But parts that you will soon see with your own eyes,” said George.

“Like the Restricted Section of the Library?” asked Harry.

“Yes, indeed,” said Fred.

“A necessary stop for any student on the Exclusive Tour,” said George.

“So, is it just you going, then?”

“Larger parties are riskier to get around.”

“Not to mention—”

“—they would have to pay as well.”

“It's only me,” Harry told them.

Harry tossed the bag of his Galleons to Fred. He emptied the bag into his hand, counting the money on sight. More than satisfied, he slid the coins back into the pouch, closed it, and said to his brother, “Our schedule just opened up for tomorrow night.”

“Does midnight work for you?” asked George.

“Perfect,” said Harry.

“Meet us in the Common Room,” said Fred.

“Five minutes to midnight,” George added.

“I'll be ready,” Harry said, before Fred & George left for their supper.

*****HPG*****

Saturday, all Harry could think of was how he'd be getting into the Restricted Section that night. He would have to wait until Fred & George got back from Hogsmeade that day and wait about the school until five minutes to midnight came.

He spent some of the time in the Library, half completing his coursework for Astronomy, half scoping out the Restricted Section before he joined Fred & George that night.

It didn't seem to be all that foreboding. The Section was separated from the rest of the Library by a partition made of a wood as black as the darkest coffee. The rest was made up of wrought-iron grating that still provided a view of what Harry was after. Maybe three or four seventh-years walked in and out without any problem. As he looked in closer at it, it seemed much more foreboding. Each of them resembled the books he had access to—giant tomes bound in leather with titles embossed in gold or sliver leaf. The greater differences were that the Restricted Section was more dimly lit than the rest of the Library, and that many of the books were chained to the shelves.

Madam Pince, the Head Librarian, swooped over and asked him, “Do you have permission to enter the Restricted Section?”

“No,” said Harry honestly.

“Then, what are you doing over here?” Madam asked him in a harsher tone. She began shooing him away, saying, “Go on, go away and don't let me see you over here again without a signed note from a teacher.”

Harry left without protest, but did give Madam Pince a mean look as he left. _It'll be easier to get in without her to get in the way_ , he thought to himself.

*****HPG*****

The time finally came to join Fred & George. Harry had trudged up the stairs to join his dormmates in going to bed. Though he didn't feel tired at all, he acted like he did so no one would suspect that he was going to sneak out at night to find information that may or may not clear up who the Petries were. He lay in his bed and waited until he heard snoring from at least one of the other boys. He got dressed in denim jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed his Cloak just to be safe, and went downstairs to meet the twins downstairs

Fred & George waited patiently downstairs, leaning against the back of the sofa. When they saw Harry coming to them, they stood upright and took on their usual mischievous persona.

“11:55, as promised,” said Fred, checking the clock in the room.

“So glad you decided to go through with this, Harry,” said George.

“My parents always taught me to keep any appointment I make,” Harry replied.

“A very good lesson to instill in younger minds,” said Fred.

“Always good to listen to your elders,” George added.

“Speaking of which—”

“—we have some lessons of our own we must instill in you before we embark on our tour. Lesson one—”

“—listen to every word we say.”

“Don't stray too far, don't touch anything you shouldn't, don't do anything that might attract attention to us—”

“Lesson Two—”

“Wait, there's a Lesson Two?”

“It feels like there should be.

“I think Lesson One covers it all.”

“Certainly seems that way. So, Harry, are you ready?”

“More than ever,” Harry said most confidently.

“Then, let's be off,” the twins said ceremoniously.

Fred & George led the way and Harry followed. His first time sneaking back to Gryffindor Tower, after meeting Fluffy, resonated with him. He expected Filch to be nearby, goading Mrs Norris to find them. Fred & George were entirely calm as they sneaked down the corridor with Harry close behind. They knew the corridors better than Harry ever imagined. They led him down corridors hidden behind tapestries, through stone walls that slid back to reveal new corridors or staircases. They pointed out Mr Filch's office and played a quarter of a match of Gobstones in his office, leaving the set behind and ready to be set off by the next person that touched one.

They showed him at least three secret passages leading out of the castle before Harry asked them, “When can we see the Restricted Section?”

“Very shortly,” Fred whispered.

“It's not but a few stops from here,” said George.

They led him further through the school, showing him the kitchens, which seemed rather empty as he looked at them.

“How exactly does this place produce all the food for us?” Harry asked. “There's no one in here.”

“The kitchen staff is off for the night,” answered Fred.

“They'll be back to work in the morning,” said George.

“Come along.”

“Restricted Section is next.”

They sneaked along some more, checking around every corner for Filch or whatever professor had midnight watch duty that evening. Remarkably, and thankfully, no one was nearby. The three boys crept into the Library. Without any lanterns lit, and without sunlight coming through from outside, the Library felt much more sinister and forbidden, as if the whole place became as Restricted as the section to which they were headed.

Now that the Library was closed for the night, the Restricted Section was locked behind two oaken doors, thick iron chains and an iron padlock.

George opened the lock and the doors while Fred took a lantern and lit it. They led Harry into the Section, with Fred explaining, “Remember how we said don't touch anything you shouldn't touch?”

“I remember,” Harry replied.

“That goes double in here,” said George.

“This place is forbidden to students like you and us,” said Fred.

“We aren't allowed to touch these books, or even look at them.”

“I know,” Harry told them. “Madam Pince chased me away earlier today.”

“So, why did you want to come here?” they asked.

“I was trying to find something about a wizard in Devon,” Harry told them honestly. “I think him and his wife have something to do with the business of that corridor on the third-floor.”

That intrigued the twins, so much so that they led him further into the Restricted Section.

“You looked in the regular stacks?” Fred asked.

“Hermione did, yeah,” Harry replied.

“She didn't find anything?” asked George.

“No, she didn't,” said Harry, “which is why I wanted to get in here to look at all the books to try and find out who they are.”

“What are their names?” they asked Harry simultaneously.

“Nick and Nell Petrie.”

The twins took one book off the shelf, one of the books that were chained there. It was shelved with several others relating to Curses and Curse Theory.

“Even if you had got in here on your own—”

“—and found what you were after—”

“—you wouldn't have had long to read what you were looking for—”

“—before Pince and Filch found you and made you regret it.”

“Why not?” said Harry.

They handed him the book. It felt heavier than he expected, probably because of the chain that bound the spine to the shelf. Harry opened the book to a random page and began to read the text printed there, something about a creature called a homunculus. The book began to shake and tremble in his hands until the book emitted a bone-chilling shriek that caused Harry to slam it shut and drop it until it dangled on the chain and swung to and fro. The shriek was so startling that George dropped the lantern he held, even though he knew what was coming.

“That's why,” Fred & George said in unison.

“Who's there?” a shrill voice cried.

They all turned to see a light growing from the doors to the main castle. The shadow of Madam Pince grew large against the wall.

“Gents, it's time we made ourselves scarce,” George told them.

“Couldn't agree more, dear brother,” Fred said.

Harry broke out the Invisibility Cloak and draped it over his body. He poked his head out and said to them, “Guys, come under here.”

The twins didn't protest as they readjusted their positions to accommodate three people under the Cloak.

“Where on earth—”

“—did you get one of these?” the twins whispered.

“It belonged to my dad,” said Harry. “My birth dad, I mean.”

“Wicked,” the twins chorused.

“We need to get out of here,” said Harry.

“Indeed,” said George.

Fred instructed them, “Shuffle to the door. Baby steps.”

They got themselves out of the Restricted Section just as Madam Pince stalked over to the now-open doors, scanning the room like a bird of prey. “Whoever is in here, show yourself,” she shouted to the entire room. She entered the Section and walked over to the lantern George dropped. The boys wasted no time shuffling away from the librarian as she inspected the Restricted Section. They exited the Library and came out into the corridor outside. When they got a good distance away, the boys doffed the Cloak and let out a sigh of relief.

“That was rather close,” said George.

“We've had closer,” Fred replied.

“Shall we continue?” asked Harry.

“Absolutely,” said the twins.

A cat's miaou resounded through the corridor. The boys glanced to their right to see Mrs Norris loping down the hall and growling as she neared them.

“Run,” said Harry.

“Right,” Fred & George chorused.

The boys ran as fast as they could away from Mrs Norris as quickly as they could. The cat chased after them, yowling for Mr Filch to come and punish them. The twins ducked around the next corner, followed by Harry with Mrs Norris close on his tail. They opened a passage set into the wall and slipped through it. Harry squeezed through just before they shut it again. They heard Mrs Norris yowling outside it as they went to the other end.

“We need to distract her,” Fred told them.

“And Filch once he joins her,” George added.

“How did that cat know we were here?” asked Harry.

“Invisibility Cloaks aren't completely invisible,” said George.

“They're invisible to humans, not animals,” said Fred.

“Then, let me distract her,” said Harry. “If the cat can see the Cloak, I could get her to stalk after me. Maybe it would draw Filch with her.”

The twins looked worried about the implications of Harry being caught by Filch and whatever punishment would ineffably come after. They resigned themselves, however, to worrying about their own skins as they neared the end of the passage.

“Stay out of sight,” Harry told them. They heeded his advice and hid further back behind him. Harry donned the Cloak and got to the door. He heard the cat growling and Filch grumbling.

“We'll put the screws to them yet, my sweet,” Filch said to his beloved pet.

Harry opened the door to the passage and dashed out to his left. The door opening so suddenly startled Filch and his cat. Harry knew, though, his plan had worked as he heard the cat miaouing and padding along the stone floor after whatever it saw.

“Where are you going, you barmy git?” Filch cried, running after Mrs Norris. “Get back here!”

Harry ran along the corridor, not looking back and not stopping for any reason. He got enough distance between himself and his pursuers that he slowed down slightly. He remained cautious, looking back once and seeing nothing. He kept the Cloak draped over his body, creeping along the hallway until he came upon a strange sight, even for the middle of the night in a school.

Quirrell was struggling to get a door open. Then, Harry took stock of where he was. This was Quirrell's old classroom, the one from which Filch shooed them all away. But Filch told them only staff was allowed in there. _Why couldn't Quirrell get in?_ he thought to himself. _He was part of the staff, wasn't he?_ Nevertheless, he was seeing Quirrell trying to break into a place where he was not allowed.

The Defence teacher fought with the door handle, forcing it to give, but the door would not budge. He brought out his wand and waved it at the door handle and the key hole. Still, the door would not open. One last spell at the door finally yielded a result that pleased Quirrell. The lock slid back and the door was finally unlocked.

He was about to open the door when he was pulled back by a large shadowy figure that appeared out of nowhere. The Potions Master had shoved Quirrell very hard into the wall and held him there. Quirrell, as always, was frightened out of his wits, but even more so now that a fellow member of the school staff had accosted him.

“Are you going somewhere without me, Quirinus?” Snape asked silkily.

“S-S-S-Severus, w-w-what are y-you d-d-doing here?” Quirrell asked with great fright.

“I was about to try and open this door,” Snape said. “But, thanks to you, now I don't need to. Did you really think it was in here? The Petries' precious little treasure?”

“Y-Y-You a-a-already know w-w-w-where that is.”

“No, _we_ know where it is,” Snape corrected him. “And I want to know what else you know, Quirinus, such as anything about Hagrid's dog. Have you learned how to get around it yet?”

“S-S-Severus, y-you're b-being r-r-rather r-r-r-rough with me,” Quirrell stammered.

“No,” Snape said. He let Quirrell go and swiftly struck his fellow teacher with the back of his right hand. Quirrell let out a yelp of pain, before Snape grabbed him and twisted him to face the ground, putting the Dark Arts teacher in a hold that looked like it would break Quirrell's wrist.

A sharp pain shot through Harry's forehead. He brought his hand to his forehead in surprise and winced as he watched the scene unfold.

“Now, I am being rough,” Snape explained coolly. “I assure you, you don't want me to be any more so. Now, if you please, answer my question or I'll break your wrist. Do you know how to get past the hellhound or not?”

“I-I d-d-don't know w-w-what you m-m-mean,” Quirrell said, trying to put up some facade of bravery, but failing spectacularly. Snape's grip put much more strain on Quirrell's wrist and Quirrell went to his knees, whimpering. The Potions Master leaned in even closer.

“You know damn well what I mean,” Snape growled. “Now, answer me, and I must insist that you do so truthfully.”

“I-i-if I don't?”

The professor whimpered as Professor Snape's grip tightened even more.

“You do not want me as your enemy.”

Mrs Norris ran up to Harry, growling and hissing at the spot Harry stood.

Filch hobbled over, calling out, “Shut up, you stupid cat!”

Snape released Quirrell and shoved him to the ground. He turned to Filch, furious at the interruption. “Damn it, Filch! I told you not to disturb me—”

“Unless students were found out of bed, I remember,” Filch said, finishing Snape's sentence. Holding up the broken lantern, he continued, “Madam Pince found this in the Restricted Section. It's still hot. They can't have gone far.”

“Continue your search,” Snape said curtly. “I'll join you shortly.”

“What are you doing with him?”

“Never you mind. Go find our wayward charges, won't you, Argus?”

Filch quickly dashed away. Mrs Norris stayed put, staring at the spot Harry stood and growling.

“Missus Norris!” Filch shouted. “Get over here!”

The cat finally turned and ran after Filch. Once the two professors were alone again, Snape grabbed Quirrell by the back of his neck and pulled him sharply up onto his knees. Quirrell winced under Snape's grip, his lower lip trembling.

“How fortunate for you that I must attend to my duties,” Snape said. “But, mark my words, Quirrell. We will resume this conversation, once you have decided where your loyalties truly lie.”

Snape shoved Quirrell back to the ground and swept down the hallway to join the castle's caretaker, nursing his right arm as he left. Quirrell quickly stood up, brushed himself off and walked away from it all in as dignified a manner as someone that was accosted can. Once the Defence teacher was gone, Harry doffed his Cloak and looked at the door.

Quirrell had forgotten to lock the door before he left. Harry was about to lock it and run back to the Gryffindor Common Room to rejoin Fred & George. Something about it intrigued him. Ever since it had been locked, everyone wondered why that had been done. Nobody knew what was in the room, though everyone had speculated what it could be.

Harry opened the door and went inside very quickly. He left the door slightly ajar as he didn't know if he'd be locked inside. Looking around, he saw crates scattered about a dusty classroom. Harry looked about the classroom once more, but saw nothing that would warrant a whole classroom being locked up. Before he left, though he saw something tall standing near the far wall of the classroom. It was draped with a sheet and appeared to be something like a wardrobe or a dresser.

Harry pulled off the sheet to reveal the object. It was a mirror. It was very tall, as Harry suspected, with the glass set in an ornate golden frame and standing on two clawed feet. The top bore an inscription Harry couldn't make out in the darkness. It appeared to be entirely ordinary as he gazed at it.

He stepped closer to the mirror, not taking his eyes off it for a second. As he neared the glass, a new sight met his eyes. Two people appeared on both sides of him. The person to his left was a young man of about twenty, with messy, jet black hair and square-framed glasses, who gazed down upon Harry with pride. To his right stood a woman about the same age as the man, with red hair like a claret cascading to her shoulders and bright-green almond-shaped eyes, the same kind with which he gazed at her.

He looked behind himself, where they would have stood. There was nothing but air and the stone floor below it. When he looked to the mirror again, there they stood once more, gazing at him just as they had before.

Their names were on the edge of his tongue. He was afraid to say them aloud, lest saying them made the sight before him disappear. When they finally passed his lips, they reverberated throughout the room and washed over him like an echo through a canyon.

“Mum?” he said, as if it were too good to be true. His birth mother's reflection smiled fondly with tears welling up in her eyes.

Looking over to the man, Harry said, “Dad?”

The reflection of James smiled just as fondly as Lily and his eyes welled up just as his wife's had. Lily brought her hand to her son's shoulder and rested it there. It felt real. So real that Harry brought his own hand up to meet it, not taking his eyes off his mother's had for one second lest she take it away.

The growing sound of footfalls broke his gaze. He looked over to the door, worried that either Filch or, even worse, Snape would burst in and expel him on the spot. He looked back at the reflection of his mother and father and said in a whisper, “I'll come back. I promise.”

He draped the Cloak over himself once more just as the Potions Master burst into the room looking around to find whoever left the door open. The professor stalked about the room, scouring every corner. Harry crept to the door, about to leave when he saw Snape gazing sadly at the looking glass for a brief moment. The professor finally broke his gaze, wove his wand, and covered the mirror once more. Harry dashed back to Gryffindor as quickly as he could, leaving the mirror and the reflection he saw behind, hoping he could return as soon as he could.

*****HPG*****

“You saw your parents?” asked Susan.

They sat down to lunch as Harry explained what had happened the night before. He went over the twins led him to the Restricted Section, how Filch and Mrs Norris chased after them, and what happened between Snape and Quirrell, before he discussed what he saw in the golden mirror.

Fred & George had approached him before he recounted the tale to his friends. They gave him a partial refund, owing to the tour being cut short about halfway through and promised they'd pick up where they left off if Harry wanted. When they left, and when Harry thanked them and promised to give it some thought, he went and sat down with his friends and told them what happened.

“Yeah, I saw them,” Harry replied.

“In a reflection?” asked Hermione. “From a photograph?”

“No, like they were standing right beside me,” Harry explained.

“Maybe it was a trick of the light,” said Hermione.

“I saw them, 'Mione,” Harry said defensively. “I saw James and Lily. She put her hand on my shoulder. I felt it.”

“You think maybe this mirror shows you the dead?” asked Ron.

“There is nothing that can show you the dead, Ronald,” said Hermione, chastising him. “There is no way anyone can speak to the dead, either.”

“Hello, Sir Nicholas,” Susan called out, waving to Gryffindor's House Ghost. Sir Nicholas tipped his head to her before he floated out of the Great Hall. Susan made a face to Hermione, as if to say, “Explain that.”

“That's different,” Hermione said in her defence, before adding, “If someone dies and doesn't come back as a ghost, there is nothing that bring them back to this world.”

“Except this mirror, apparently,” Ron countered.

“I'll show you, if you want,” said Harry.

“I want to see it,” Ron quickly said.

“I'll go too,” said Susan.

“You two can't be seriously believe this is real?” Hermione cried.

“I just want to see it,” said Ron.

“I'm just going to make sure they don't get into trouble,” Susan told her.

“If you do this and get caught—” Hermione said, before Harry cut her off.

“I didn't get caught last night,” Harry told her.

“What if you are tonight?” Hermione replied.

“We'll be fine,” said Harry. “We'll let you know what we see.”

Hermione sat fuming at the table, watching as the three idiots walked away.

*****HPG*****

Walking to the room with the Mirror proved difficult. Harry, Ron and Susan hid under Harry's Cloak and shuffled along the corridors for what felt like forever. They looked around nervously at every sound that occurred during their journey from Gryffindor Tower. When they finally got to the Mirror room, it took twenty full minutes to get past the door before they got inside.

Harry doffed the Cloak and went to unveil the Mirror.

“This is it,” he told them, making a mock pose of presentation.

“What does that inscription say on the top?” asked Susan as she looked at it.

Harry had noticed the inscription before, but paid it no mind as he was too enthralled by what he saw in the looking-glass. It read: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

“I don't know,” Harry told her honestly. “I didn't see it all the last time I was here.”

Harry directed them to stand before the Mirror. They stood staring into the glass for a full minute before anyone spoke up.

“Where are your parents?” Ron asked.

“You're certain you saw them standing in this mirror?” asked Susan.

“Yes,” said Harry in exasperation. “I stood right there. I looked into the Mirror, and I saw them standing on both sides of me.”

Ron and Susan looked at the Mirror again. Still, nothing appeared except their visages. Something occurred to Susan as she looked at the Mirror.

“You were here alone?” she asked Harry.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “Until Snape came in trying to find who left this place wide open.”

“Ron,” Susan said to their friend. “Keep looking at it.”

She stepped aside as Ron stayed put. Harry stepped up beside her, watching for his friend's reaction to seeing his parents. In about fifteen seconds, Ron's eyes grew wide with awe.

“You see them?” asked Harry.

A smile spread across his lips as he answered, “It's me.”

“What?” Harry and Susan cried.

“I look older,” Ron said. “But, it's definitely me. I'm Head Boy!”

“You, Head Boy?” Susan asked in disbelief.

“I've got the badge just like Bill used to wear.” Ron gasped as he looked closer. “I'm Captain for the Quidditch team as well. I just won both the House Cup _and_ the Quidditch Cup.”

He straightened up with pride as he looked at it even more. Harry was about ready to shove Ron aside so he could see James and Lily again.

“You don't see my parents?” Harry asked.

“No, I already told you,” Ron replied. “It's just me, the most amazing person the school will ever see.”

Susan looked at the Mirror as if it were a monstrous creature waiting to devour them whole. She pulled Ron away from the thing and dragged him to the door.

“We need to get away from this thing,” she told the boys.

“In a minute,” said Harry. “I want to get one last look.”

She grabbed Harry by the collar of his jumper and brought him back beside her.

“No,” she told him sharply. “Let's get back to Gryffindor.”

“I want one last look,” Harry snarled.

“We're going, Harry,” Susan told him in her most steadfast voice. She shoved both of them out the door and threw the Cloak over them. She marched them back to the Common Room. Once inside, Susan took the Cloak off of them and shoved it into Harry's chest.

“Do you think that thing shows you the future?” Ron asked, still wistful after seeing his reflection.

“No, it doesn't,” Susan told him assuredly.

“How could you possibly know that?” Harry asked her.

“It showed you your parents,” she replied. “They're not alive any more.”

Harry found himself giving Susan a look caught between a sneer and the look of shock he'd give to someone for saying Father Christmas didn't exist. It cut him to the bone to hear Susan be so blunt about the Mirror; but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. How could the Mirror show the future if it showed a dead person in its reflection?

Despite the rationality of everything Susan said to him, he wanted nothing more than to be sitting before the Mirror again and see himself himself sitting beside James and Lily again.

*****HPG*****

The night before still occupied Harry's every thought. He gazed at the plate of food set before him as if trying to discern some greater truth from the glob of mashed potatoes and slices of roast beef that made up his dinner. He wasn't hungry and only took the food to appear polite. He could only think about the Mirror and what it had shown him before. All his friends had gone about their lives as if they hadn't encountered the Mirror at all. He wanted to see James and Lily beside him again.

Susan and Hermione sat across from Harry, looking upon him sadly.

“Susan told me about what you showed her and Ron,” said Hermione. Harry didn't answer. He only poked at his food.

“Harry, that thing is dangerous,” Hermione went on to say. “No good can come of looking at it again.”

“They were right beside me, Hermione,” Harry said. “They were real.”

“No, they weren't,” Susan said. “It was all a figment of your imagination. There was nothing but what you saw in that looking-glass.”

“Prove it.”

“Was Ron actually holding the House Cup last night? Or the Quidditch Cup? Did you see him wearing the Head Boy's badge at all?”

“Harry, you have a photograph of them,” said Hermione. “Treasure that. Don't risk going out again for that stupid mirror.”

Harry corrected her. “I have a photograph of _them_ , not of _us_. What I see in that mirror is worth more to me than that bloody picture could ever be worth.”

He shoved his plate away and stormed off, not looking back at his sister.

*****HPG*****

He had returned that night, against his friend's warning, against his sister's warning. He sat at the base of the Mirror, gazing deeply at the reflection of himself with James and Lily sitting next to him.

“I see you're back again, Harry,” an older voice called out.

Harry scrambled to his feet to find Professor Dumbledore leaning against a desk. The Headmaster stood in deep purple robes, gazing intently and solemnly upon the boy looking at the mirror within the room.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said, awestruck and timid.

“Good evening,” said the Headmaster kindly.

“I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see you there.”

“It is not unheard of, a person becoming nearsighted once they become invisible,” said the professor, most amused. The professor got off the desk and walked up beside Harry. “I am glad to see you are making good use of your father's Cloak.”

Harry was about to hide the Cloak away when he remembered it had been the Headmaster that gave it to him. The professor continued, “Seeing you use it for its intended purposes makes me feel better than looking at it folded up and sitting among all my things.”

“Why give it to me now?” Harry asked uneasily.

“As I said, it didn't feel right to keep it from you any longer,” the professor replied. “You deserved to have something tangible that truly belonged to your father. Not to mention, I have my own ways of becoming invisible. I don't need a Cloak for that.”

His words made Harry suspicious. He watched the professor as the old man ambled forward.

“It is fascinating, isn't it?” Dumbledore asked him, looking at the reason for Harry's nighttime excursion. “The Mirror of Erised, one of the most amazing ancient magical objects still around today.”

“Is that what it's called?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” said the Headmaster, amused at Harry's candour. “Can you tell me what it does?”

“It...it shows me my parents. My birth parents, I mean.”

“Yes, it does,” said Dumbledore. “But, will it show me the same thing?”

The Headmaster gently nudged Harry aside to stand in front of the mirror. Dumbledore squinted. “Hmm,” the Headmaster muttered.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“I see myself,” said Dumbledore simply, but in a sad manner. “I'm holding a pair of thick woolen socks. I must admit, everyone gives me books for Christmas. While they are most appreciated, I always want just a nice pair of socks to keep my feet warm, especially to get through the winters up here.”

“Why does it show you holding a pair of socks, but me my birth parents?” Harry asked, most perplexed.

“Let me explain, if I can. The happiest man in the world could stand at the Mirror of Erised and use it as he would a normal mirror. That is, he could gaze into it and see only himself, exactly as he is.”

Harry thought about what he had heard, before saying, “The mirror shows us...whatever we want?”

“Yes...and no,” said the professor, before instructing Harry, “Have you read the inscription at the top?”

Harry read it again, but still no answer came to him. “I saw it,” he told the Headmaster. “I didn't really understand it.”

Professor Dumbledore chuckled and said, “It's times like these that a man must glimpse into one mirror in order to understand another.”

He looked off into the air as he said, “Oh, that's clever...” Chuckling, he returned his attention to Harry.

The professor waved his hand and a small hand mirror appeared in his hand. It was silver with gold scrollwork inlay. On the back was the school's H escutcheon, also in gold. He turned so his back faced the larger mirror. Harry turned himself around as well so he might see what the professor was about to show him. The professor held the vanity mirror at an angle that showed the inscription at the top and so Harry could see it. Harry glimpsed at the smaller mirror and read the inscription again, but in reverse: _ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desirE_.

“I show...not...your face...but your...hearts...desire,” Harry said, reading it aloud.

“Yes,” said the professor.

“So...this mirror shows us what we want the most.”

“What one person wants the most, yes,” the professor elaborated. Going further, he added, “To be more concise, it shows one person the deepest, most desperate desire of their heart. For your friend, Ronald Weasley, the mirror shows him as he wishes he were: noticed, praised and loved, which he already is, but no longer overshadowed by any of his brothers. For you, it shows the mother and father torn away from your life, but not the family you gained after losing them.”

Harry looked at the mirror again, but not with the sense of wonder he had before. When he looked at it now, he saw it in a more foreboding light, one that frightened him just as much as it attracted him.

“You see the Mirror now as very few people do, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “The Mirror of Erised shows neither truth nor knowledge, only the unfulfillable wants of man. So many have wasted away before it, entranced by the desires brought to their eyes, or driven mad because they could no longer discern reality from what the Mirror showed them.

“It is a wondrous object. Wondrous, but truly dangerous. That is why it shall be moved to a new home.”

Harry snapped his head back to see Dumbledore gazing at him sternly. “Now that you have seen it, you are better prepared to turn away from its temptations if you should ever come across it once more. I urge you, Harry, never to seek it out again. It does not do to dwell on our dreams and forget to live.”

Harry looked at the Mirror, then back at the Headmaster, wary of both. He nodded his assent to Dumbledore's wishes and left the room. As he left and draped the Cloak over himself, he saw the Headmaster one last time. The old man gazed into the looking-glass longingly, as if seeing something more desirable than a pair of socks.

*****HPG*****

He thought about them still. Even after the Headmaster's advice and hearing that the Mirror of Erised would be moved, he still wanted to see the reflection of his parents. He didn't just want it; he yearned for it.

It occupied his nearly every thought. He doodled pictures of himself with them while he sat in class. He imagined what it would have been like to have a little brother or sister. He even thought about what their names would have been. He needed to see that again more than anything.

“Harry, do you want to play some chess?” said Ron, coming up to his friend, his chess set tucked under his right arm. “You were getting pretty good at it.”

“Not right now,” said Harry.

Ron sat down across from his friend, setting the chess set to his side.

“You still thinking about it?” asked Ron.

“Thinking about what?”

“The Mirror. You still want to see it.”

“No, I don't.”

“Then, why do you draw yourself with them?”

Harry saw one of the doodles he made in History of Magic laying out in the open and slipped it back into the textbook.

“I still think about what I saw too,” Ron admitted.

“It's just a stupid mirror,” said Harry.

“A mirror that shows us all what we want the most.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Why don't we go look at it one more time?”

The idea appealed to Harry more than anything. If anything, he would have gone alone, but he remembered how much Ron admired what he saw. Ron deserved to see himself in that light one last time.

“We should,” Harry said with determination. “We'll go tonight.”

“Really?” asked Ron.

“Absolutely. First thing when everyone's in bed, we'll go.”

“Go where?” asked Susan, when she and Hermione came up and sat down beside Harry. The boys acted nervously as they thought up a fake answer.

“We, er—” Ron stuttered.

“We're, er, organising something,” Harry said.

“Organising what?” asked Hermione.

Harry's eyes fell on the chessboard and answered in a lightning-fast response, “A chess tournament.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “We figured it would be fun to set up a tournament for everybody.”

“And maybe have a section where we can teach anybody who doesn't know how to play,” Harry added.

“Yeah, set up a little prize for the winner, you know,” Ron said.

“And the runners-up,” Harry replied.

“Oh, yeah,” said Ron. “Can't forget about them.”

“It's going to be great,” Harry said. He asked the girls, “Can we put you down as participants?”

Hermione and Susan were unconvinced by their impromptu excuse, glaring at the boys.

“There's already a Wizards' Chess Club here at Hogwarts,” said Hermione. “They organise all the tournaments.”

“And, they already do sessions to teach novice players,” Susan added.

The girls' knowledge of the school took the boys by surprise. They were left speechless at how quickly their lie fell apart.

 

“They're going after the Mirror again,” Hermione said to Susan.

“Yes, they are,” Susan replied.

“Harry, you need to stay away from that thing,” Hermione advised.

“We're going to see one last time,” said Ron.

“Dumbledore told me they're moving it out of that room,” Harry told his sister.

“When did you talk to the Headmaster?” Hermione asked in shock.

“When I spoke to him the last time I saw the Mirror,” Harry said.

“A teacher caught you in there?” his sister nearly cried.

“The Headmaster's not a teacher,” Ron said, asking after, “Is he?”

“You have had too many close calls with that Mirror, Harry,” said Susan. “Stay away from it.”

“We're looking at it one last time,” Harry told them. “Then, it's gone for good.”

Harry left them sitting at the table while he stormed out of the Great Hall. As he looked back, he saw Hermione talking strenuously to the both of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that bothered him. Malfoy was peering over at them, and he was in earshot of them. Malfoy knew about their plan to go see the Mirror.

The pale-faced Slytherin boy looked ready for revenge as well. His nose was still crooked from when Harry had punched him on Halloween. He had a shrewd look in his eyes, like he was deep in a plot that could only mean trouble for Harry and his friends.

*****HPG*****

That night, Harry and Ron waited until everyone fell asleep just like before. When they were satisfied that no one would wake, the boys got up and made their way downstairs. Harry brought the Cloak with him to ensure no one would see them. This was a great risk they were facing, he knew that. He also knew, though, that not seeing his birth parents one last time was something he would regret.

“Got the Cloak?” Ron asked as they crept downstairs. Harry took it out and showed his friend he had it.

“It should be just like before, right?” asked Ron. “No one guarding it or what have you.”

“We can't take that chance,” said Harry, as they entered the Common Room.

“Then, why not go back to bed?” Susan asked from one of the armchairs by the hearth, startling the two of them.

“What are you doing down here?” asked Harry.

“Trying to talk some sense into the two of you before you do something horribly stupid,” she answered. “Going to see that Mirror is not a good idea and you need to let it go.”

“When are we going to get this chance again?” asked Ron.

“You already had it!” Susan growled. “You already saw it! Leave it be and move on.”

“Are you coming with us or not?” Harry asked finally, bringing out his Invisibility Cloak. He opened the portrait hole and Ron followed. Susan groaned in annoyance over the boys' stubbornness and joined them.

The journey was just as uneasy as it had been the night before. They all shuffled under the Cloak as fast as they could without attracting attention to themselves. The hallways were as dark and quiet as they had always been. When they reached the door to Quirrell's classroom, Harry unlocked it with a wave of his wand.

The Mirror of Erised had not been moved yet. It still stood in the middle of the room just as it had all the nights before. Harry took of the Cloak and started toward it. Susan grabbed Harry and Ron by their wrists and turned them back around to face her.

“You have one minute each, then we are going back to Gryffindor Tower,” Susan sternly told the two of them.

“One minute's not enough time,” Ron pleaded.

“I am not staying any longer than that, and I'm not letting you either,” she replied. “One minute.”

She released them to go look at their ideal selves in the Mirror. Harry respected her plea and gazed at the reflection of himself and his parents for the one minute. He touched the glass on his mother's side and her visage held her hand out to meet it. It must have known Harry was going to go away if it had done that. It took every bit of willpower he could muster to break away and rejoin Susan.

“Goodbye,” he whispered to them.

Ron took Harry's place at the Mirror and looked at himself, striking a gallant pose. As he watched Ron, he felt an urge to shove his friend out of the way and look at himself with his old family again. Susan must have sensed he wanted to do that as well. She grabbed him by the wrist once more and held him in place.

“Time's up, Ronald,” Susan told him.

Ron groaned. “Just another minute. Please?”

“No, step away from the bloody thing,” she replied.

With the greatest reluctance, Ron moved away from the Mirror and rejoined his friends. Harry took out the Cloak and was about to drape it over them, until they heard the last thing they expected or wanted to hear at this time of night.

“What are you doing here?” Malfoy's voice asked, startling all of them. All three Gryffindor children jumped and spun around to see their adversary standing in the threshold to the room.

“None of your business, Malfoy,” Ron said defensively.

“What are you doing here?” Susan asked.

“Isn't it obvious?” Harry responded. “He's here to rat on us.”

“Not at all, Potter,” Malfoy replied, stepping into the the room wholly and leaving the door only sightly ajar. “I overheard you simply wanted to see what you came here to see so badly.”

“You saw it,” Ron snarled. “Now, get lost.”

Malfoy sauntered over to the Mirror. He stood in front of it and squinted at it.

“Really?” Malfoy sneered. “You came out at night to look at this stupid thing?”

Susan walked over to pull him away, saying, “It's better that you don't go near this thing.”

Malfoy swatted her hand away, telling her, “Don't touch me. It'll take ages to get the Gryffindor stink out of my robes.”

He shoved her away and went back to looking at the Mirror. His face fell and grew paler as he looked at it longer. He reached out to the glass as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. Before he could utter a single word, a grumbling shout turned their heads to the door. “Intruders!” came the voice of Mr Filch.

Harry quickly took the Cloak out of his pouch and draped it over himself and his friends. As Malfoy looked back at them, he got the surprise of seeing nothing but an empty room where they stood. Malfoy looked about madly, hoping they had hidden themselves away somewhere obvious so he could point them in a pinch.

The door burst open. Filch barged in, glowering at Malfoy. “Well, well, well, aren't we in trouble...” he grumbled happily.

“I'm not here to cause trouble,” Malfoy said in a panic.

“And I'm the son of a hippogriff,” Filch told him most sarcastically. The caretaker took Malfoy by the ear and pulled him sharply to the hallway.

“Let me go or my father will hear about this,” Malfoy cried, breaking Filch's hold on his ear. The caretaker grabbed Malfoy by the front of his robes.

“Oh, I'm certain dear Lucius will be less than happy to hear his only child is a troublemaking little tosspot.”

“What is going on here?” shouted Snape as he swept into the classroom.

“I found this boy staring at that cursed thing, sir,” Filch told him, shoving Malfoy toward the Head of his House. “Little blighter didn't even close the door after himself.”

Snape glared at the Mirror then at his student.

“Why were you in here, Malfoy?” asked the professor. “After dark, no less.”

“Potter and his friends led me here, sir,” Malfoy lied. “Then, they abandoned me to take the fall for all this.”

“Where are they?” the professor asked the caretaker.

“He was the only one in here,” snarled the caretaker.

“I saw them,” Malfoy pleaded. “I swear it.”

“Go look for them, Argus,” Snape commanded.

“What about him?” asked Filch.

“I shall tend to Mr Malfoy. Go find the other brats.”

“Now, just a moment,” said Filch. “I don't care who he is, or if you vouch for him. He's out after dark, and in a place he's not allowed. I'm writing him up.”

“You will do no such thing,” Snape retorted. “I will lead him back to the dungeons while you focus on the other children.”

“What other children?” said Professor McGonagall as she entered the classroom.

“Oh, no,” Ron whispered under his breath.

The Deputy Headmistress strode to the Potions Master and the student in the room.

“The situation is under control, Minerva,” said Snape.

“I'm sure it is, if a first-year can break into a room meant to be totally secure and impregnable,” McGonagall replied snidely. “Why is Malfoy in here?”

“Potter and his friends led him in here, no doubt as a prank of sorts,” Snape replied.

Harry led them to the door to leave, inching ever so carefully to it without gaining notice from the teachers or Malfoy as they bickered about who was to blame. As they moved their slowest, they felt the Cloak move over them as they moved away. It had snagged on a nail jutting out of one of the crates in the room. To his great fear, he couldn't stop Susan or Ron from moving and they pushed him out into the open. He stood looking nervously at them while they glowered at him.

“Ah, what a pleasant surprise,” Snape uttered silkily, adding in an ironic manner, “You were saying something about Potter's upstanding behaviour, Minerva?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Here's Chapter 14. I'm moving again, so this chapter is up far later than I wished it to be. #15 is very close to finished and will be up as soon as possible. In the meantime, thanks for reading!


	15. The Forest Folk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Fifteen  
**The Forest Folk**

 

“There is absolutely no reason whatsoever that any of the four of you should be out of bed,” Professor McGonagall growled. If she had been angry seeing Malfoy with the Mirror of Erised, she turned absolutely livid seeing Harry, Ron and Susan there as well. She dragged them all, even Snape, to her classroom.

“Malfoy was up to inform me of the Gryffindors' wrongdoing,” said Snape.

“I'm certain he was,” she replied in a most sarcastic manner, “just as I'm certain he also wanted to keep them out of trouble as well.”

To the children, she said, “Because all of you were out of bed after dark, and in a room strictly off-limits to children, I have no choice but to take away fifty points.”

“Fifty?” cried Ron.

“Yes, Mr Weasley,” she told him. “Fifty points _each_.”

Harry's heart sank. They lost their House a hundred and fifty points in one night. Harry looked over to Malfoy. The pale git was caught between a grimace and a smirk.

“That is far too harsh, Minerva,” said Snape. “For the other children, maybe the punishment fits the crime, but Malfoy did no wrong.”

“Malfoy was out of bed after dark, standing in a room declared out of bounds to all students, even the ones who might mean to do good,” McGonagall told him curtly, “and if Mr Malfoy _had_ meant to do good, he ought to have told the Head of his House _before_ he wound up there in the first place.”

Snape shut up at that, conceding to the Deputy Headmistress's decree, though it was clear he was most unhappy to do so. McGonagall told the children, “You will all receive detention of our choosing, and if you decide you have anything better to do, rest assured more severe consequences are to follow. Do I make myself clear?”

The children all nodded their heads glumly. Harry looked down at his feet. This night couldn't get any worse.

“Severus, you may escort Mr Malfoy back to Slytherin House,” said McGonagall. “I'll escort the others back to Gryffindor Tower.”

Snape gave her a nod with a glare and led Malfoy away from the others. Malfoy shot Harry, Ron, and Susan a mean look and they returned it. When they were gone, McGonagall led them back to Gryffindor House. She said nothing to them as they walked back, nor did she look back at any time. The halls felt colder as they walked onward. Harry had expected her to tear them to shreds for their carelessness or scold them until their ears bled. When they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, McGonagall curtly said, “Pig snout!”

The Fat Lady replied in a drowsy sleep, “No, thank you, I just ate,” and the portrait creaked opened.

The professor turned to the children and told them, “To say I am disappointed in all of you would be a gross understatement. I expect all of you to behave yourselves from now until you're back home. Is that understood?”

Harry, Ron and Susan nodded immediately. The professor pointed to the open portrait. “Now, get to bed. You all have a long day ahead of you, especially once the rest of Gryffindor House hears of this.”

The children trudged into the Common Room. Once the portrait closed behind them, Susan rounded on Harry and Ron. “Fifty points!” she cried. “We lost fifty points! Apiece!”

“Maybe we can win them back,” said Ron uncertainly.

“Oh, but of course. We can _just win_ them back. Everyone will hate us, even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.”

“We need to go to bed,” Harry told them. “We can worry about all that tomorrow.”

Harry went right to bed, kicking himself for getting them all in trouble. He knew Susan was right. The whole of Gryffindor would hate them for doing this. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw would hate them because it would bring Slytherin into the lead for the House Cup. Slytherin would laugh about it all and do nothing to Malfoy once they heard about it.

Adding to that, McGonagall confiscated his father's Invisibility Cloak. He couldn't imagine how it could worse.

*****HPG*****

But, it did. Susan was right in her assessment. The morning after they were caught and McGonagall rebuked them, the Gryffindors all gathered around McGonagall, wondering why their House had so fewer points than they did the day before. The professor explained, in as kind and mindful voice as she could muster, the infraction caused by Harry, Ron, and Susan the night before. Harry couldn't look any of them in the eye as they glared at him and marched past him to their first class.

In the two weeks that followed, all of Gryffindor treated them with resentment. Everyone would barge past them, either just because they could or so they would knock whatever they were carrying out of their hands. They would always shoot dirty looks at them regardless of what they did.

The last person Harry wanted to hear a lecture from was Hermione. But, she told him it was utterly stupid of him to go back to see the Mirror. Harry lashed out at her, saying that he wouldn't have found the damned thing if she had found something about the Petries. It was a lame excuse, he knew, but it was exactly how he felt. He left before she knew make any response, which would have put what he said to shame.

The resentment even extended to the Quidditch pitch. His teammates would ignore him more often than not, or at least refuse to speak directly to him. If they ever had speak to him, it was only in brief, curt commands. If they ever had to refer to him, it was never by his name, only as “the Seeker.” It was irritating, to say the least. _But deserved_ , Harry reminded himself. _You did have this coming_.

The only teammates who spoke to Harry directly were Fred & George and Wood. The twins told Harry not to let it get him down. They also told him of how they lost a hundred points in one week and said how impressed they were about how quickly beat his record. When they spoke to Ron, they told him that with enough practice, they could make him perhaps a tenth of the troublemaker each of them was.

Wood, on the other hand, brought only bad news. He sat down with Harry in the Gryffindor Common Room the night before their match with Hufflepuff.

“There's a problem with tomorrow's match,” said Wood.

“What's going on?” asked Harry. His guts turned to water as terrible fears flooded his mind. He imagined all sorts of horrible scenarios playing out before the match. _They had found a new Seeker to replace him for the rest of their matches; they would have to play Slytherin for the rest of his time at Hogwarts; Quidditch had been banned for all time._ Nothing he imagined, though, could compare with what the Gryffindor Keeper said next.

“Dumbledore changed referees for this match. He put Snape in Madam Hooch's place.”

“WHAT?!” Harry cried, almost jumping from the table. The cry turned everyone's heads, though they returned to what they were doing almost instantly when they saw who shouted.

_How could Dumbledore make Snape referee when he was suspected of nearly killing Harry at his last match? That made no sense._

“Is the Headmaster even allowed to do that?” asked Harry.

“The Headmaster can appoint anyone he sees fit to any position in the school,” Wood explained, though he was not at all happy to say so. “Before you say anything, I know about what he did at our last match. McGonagall told me what you were thinking. I would put someone else in your place, but we don't have a reserve Seeker. You have to play tomorrow.”

“Then, what should I do?” Harry asked, struggling to hide every mote of fear that grew in his mind and gut.

“Snape is bound to call as many fouls against us as he get away with. Get the Snitch as quickly as you can. Fly around the perimeter of the stands until you see it, but don't fly into the rest of the match until you're dead certain you see it. We can win tomorrow as long as you stick to that plan.”

“I will.”

“See you bright and early tomorrow.” Wood left Harry thinking about the match and what Snape would try to do to him. There was no telling what could happen. He felt himself growing sick with worry, and fear for his life.

*****HPG*****

“The matter is out of my hands now, Granger,” the professor told him the following morning, though it was clear by the sound of her voice that she was withholding a greater deal of anger than she conveyed.

Harry had run to McGonagall to talk about Snape taking Madam Hooch's place in a last ditch effort to stop the professor from monitoring the match, or to take himself out of it.

“He tried to kill me in the last match,” Harry complained.

“I reminded the Headmaster of that,” she replied. “Professor Dumbledore said he looked into those allegations. He found nothing substantial, or at least claims as such.”

“Snape can't get away with it!”

“I stand by you, Granger, and I will continue to. For the time being, though, play your best.” The Deputy Headmistress left him fuming. He stalked back to the Gryffindor table and sat down with Ron and Susan. Hermione joined them when she saw what her brother looked like after his discussion. When they heard what would happen at the match, they all gasped and turned pale.

“They can't let you play,” Hermione said in a frightened whisper.

“Pretend that you're ill,” Ron suggested.

“Pretend that your arm is broken,” said Susan.

“ _Really_ break your arm,” Ron added.

“We don't have a reserve Seeker,” Harry told them all. “And how much more will Gryffindor hate me if I duck out and make the team forfeit?”

They didn't have a response for that. The resentment from their Housemates was one thing the three Gryffindors all wanted to do away with. A victory over Hufflepuff was certain to alleviate that at least somewhat, if not entirely. There was no other way to relieve them of Gryffindor's bitterness of losing the position for the House Cup they had. Harry resigned himself to facing what was to come in the match. And if Snape tried anything, he'd make sure everyone knew it was him.

*****HPG*****

Everyone was at the match, even Dumbledore, sitting in the Headmaster's box, wearing purple robes like he did before. McGonagall sat beside him, though it seemed she was not happy to do so, most likely as a result of her sentiments toward Snape being in charge of refereeing the match. Quirrell sat in the same section, but at the end that was more sparsely populated. _He probably didn't want to be beaten up like he had been at the last match_ , Harry thought.

The match went just as everyone expected. Snape, to everyone's surprise, was remarkably fair as a referee. He told everyone to play fair and made the captains shake hands before the match started. He flew about, calling out just about everyone for committing a foul, most notably a cobbing call against a Hufflepuff Chaser and Blatching against Katie Bell (even though both incidents were unintentional). It became clear, though, that Gryffindor would receive the lion's share of the penalties, so to speak.

The team had a forty-point lead on Hufflepuff when Harry saw the Snitch fluttering at the center of the pitch. Diggory, the Seeker on the Hufflepuff side, was on the his team's end of the pitch and didn't see it at all. Harry shot after it. He flew past Snape and startled him so badly he nearly fell off. When Harry caught it, flying over the Gryffindors in the stands, Snape announced sullenly, and through gritted teeth, that Gryffindor had won.

The match lasted just over five minutes. Nobody had ever remembered a match ending so quickly. It didn't matter to anyone how long it lasted, though. Gryffindor was in jubilation at that moment. They had overtaken Slytherin for the first time in seven years for the Quidditch Cup. As he set on the ground, the whole team flooded over him. Any resentment they had felt before was gone and long forgotten.

As he saw Snape landing with a scowl that could curdle milk, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around to see Dumbledore gazing down on him.

“Well done, my boy,” the Headmaster said to him, adding with a knowing gaze, “Keep it up.”

The Headmaster strode back to the castle, humming to himself. Harry didn't know whether the Headmaster meant to keep playing well or keep focusing on anything but what he saw in the Mirror of Erised. Regardless of what he had meant, it felt odd to hear the Headmaster say that to him, after he had put Harry in a match with a man that tried to kill him in the previous match. He didn't want to think about, though. He had just won the match for his House and his friends, and Harry was determined to enjoy it while he could.

When he looked back at the Potions Master, Snape threw his broom to the ground in anger and stormed away.

*****HPG*****

_He was walking along a forest path. Trees surrounded him in every direction. It was dark, darker than he would have liked it to be. The woods had an eerie quality about it. Harry had a bad feeling that something was bound to jump out from behind a tree and attack him. As he walked through the woods, he came upon a giant fir tree. Something flew out of the wood and struck the tree with a thud. Harry dropped to the ground. He looked about the forest. No one was out there, or whoever was had hid themselves so well he couldn't see them._

_“Come no farther!” a voice shouted._

_He got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his front. He looked to the tree. Embedded in it was an arrow. The shaft was buried into the tree up until the softwood. The nock end bore raven-black fletchings. He felt drawn deeper into the forest and followed the path further into the woods, looking back over his shoulder with nearly step he took. Another arrow flew out of the woods, striking another tree, this one fletched with feathers white as a swan's._

_“Do you wish to die?” the voice cried._

_Harry moved forward, further into the forest._

_As he went onward, a sharp cry tore through the air. It was an animal cry that cut deep into Harry's soul, as if the creature's pain was Harry's own. He wanted to turn away and leave this place, but he was drawn to the cry, drawn to whatever was fallen out there. He felt deep in his heart that whatever was out there he needed it. More than anything in the whole world. More even than life itself._

_As he walked further, another arrow flew out of the wood and struck the ground at Harry's feet. This arrow bore fletchings as yellow as a canary._

_“This is your last warning!” the voice cried. “Turn away or fall where you stand!”_

_These trifling things would not stop him from what he sought._

_A scent hit his nostrils. It had a metallic tang to it that reminded Harry of one thing and only one thing: blood. Whatever had cried on the night had been killed or injured, and its blood was on the wind. He came over a small ridge to find a figure cloaked in black standing over a creature with a silvery white body. The figure's hand clutched something that dripped some silvery liquid from its fingertips._

_The pain tore through Harry's head again as he came over the ridge. He cried in pain as he brought his hand to his scar. The figure turned to its right, the silver liquid dribbling from its lips. As he ducked out of sight and looked away, his surroundings changed. He wasn't hunkered down behind the ridge; he stood in the clearing where the cloaked figure stood. The body that lay before him was indistinct, but large and pure white. He held something in his hands, something large and wet. He brought it closer to see. He wished he hadn't. In his hand, he held a heart, torn from that creature and still dripping its argentine fluid._

_He dropped the heart as the pain behind his scar washed over him once more. He clutched his head in despair. The metallic scent of blood flooded his nostrils. The green light flooded his vision. He screamed—_

*****HPG*****

He woke up.

His breath was rapid. He shivered as if someone had left the window open all night. Looking around, he saw no one else awake. He scrawled the dream down in his journal and lay back in bed.

Sleep would not come back to him. He stayed put, staring at the canopy of his four-poster and expecting to drift off to sleep. He stayed awake all through the rest of the night.

He went through his classes for that day. The lessons were gettting tougher and tougher. Homework piled on top of homework as their final exams were coming closer.

“Will you focus on studying?” Hermione said to Ron one day when they were in the library. “We need to study for our exams.”

“They're ages away,” Ron replied.

“Sixteen weeks,” Hermione said, correcting him. “What will you do when they finally come and you're not ready?”

“I'll copy off of you.”

“You'll do no such thing,” she said, scolding him. “There are anti-cheating spells on everything. The parchments, quills, and even the desks and the whole classrooms to deter any cheating that might be committed.

“That's insulting!” Ron cried. “It's like they don't trust us.”

“I wouldn't put it past us,” said Susan.

The discussion was tabled as they left for Potions The lesson went as it usually did. Snape was his usual vindictive self, berating anyone who made stupid mistake and never acknowledging any skill unless someone wore green and silver. At the end of the class, everyone was surprised to see Professor McGonagall enter the classroom.

“Minerva, what a surprise,” Snape said in a very prideful tone of voice. “I always thought you hated to come down to the dungeons.”

“I do,” she replied, “more you hate to leave them.”

The Potions Master sneered as he addressed the students. “Class dismissed,” he told them. “Study Chapter 10 and write a summary of its contents.”

Everyone filed out of the classroom until McGonagall spoke.

“Granger, Weasley, Bones, Malfoy,” she called, stopping all four of them in their tracks. “You all stay put. We have important matters to discuss.”

She motioned for them to stand before her. Snape grudgingly came up beside her.

“Dumbledore has decided on a detention for you four,” McGonagall told them.

“I was under the impression that that was up to you and I,” said Snape.

“You know full well the Headmaster has every right to intervene as he sees fit, just as he did to put you in Madam Hooch's place on the pitch,” adding snidely, “for what good it did you.”

Snape rolled his eyes at her remark and asked, “Then, what would the Headmaster have us put the children through for their punishment?”

“You won't like it.”

“Try me.”

“You four are to go into the Dark Forest,” McGonagall told the students with noticeable apprehension.

All four of them went aghast at McGonagall's news. Even Snape went pale as he heard the Deputy Headmistress tell them the news, though his eyes said differently.

Snape cried, “He can't be serious!”

“He is. Hagrid is to guide them through the woods tonight.”

“For what purpose?”

“He did not say, but it is to be done,” McGonagall replied. “Mr Filch will collect you all and lead you to the gamekeeper's hut, where you will assist Hagrid.”

“Why?” cried Malfoy, outraged.

“You broke the school's rules,” she explained coldly. “All of you did. Therefore, you will do your detention for it. This is that detention.”

“An unfair one,” said Snape.

“One that the Headmaster decided upon, and told us to enforce,” she replied. “I don't like anymore than you do, Severus, but Dumbledore has made it explicitly clear that this is the punishment that will be fulfilled.”

“I strongly object to this decision,” the Potions Master growled.

“Your objection is noted,” she told him curtly, “just as mine was with him. Nevertheless, you four will go with Hagrid into the Dark Forest. That is all.”

The four children got up. They trod out of the dungeon classroom, fearing what lay before them that night. Malfoy barged past them, shoving Ron roughly into the wall, and shot them all a dirty look as he left. When Harry looked back to the classroom, the Potions Master looked back at him with a shrewd, plotting gaze before the professor closed the door on him.

*****HPG*****

Their future detention was all they could think about that day. Harry wondered what creature they would come upon. _And be forced to fight, no doubt_ , Harry thought to himself grimly.

Susan didn't speak to anyone most of the day. She would just stare off into space or hunch over her homework and devote herself entirely to it.

Harry could have sworn he saw Ron making out his last will and testament during their History of Magic class.

As they went down to the Great Hall for dinner, Harry saw McGonagall approach the gamekeeper.

“Hagrid,” McGonagall called. “A word, please.”

She guided him away from the throng of students that made their way to their dinner. Harry followed them to an empty classroom.

“You will guard the children while they're out there, won't you?” McGonagall asked him in a worried tone of voice.

“With my life, if I have to,” Hagrid replied. “Minerva, there's something else you ought to know.”

“That is?”

“Firenze asked for an audience with Harry.”

That surprised Harry to no end. He remembered hearing of Firenze from the discussion McGonagall and Hagrid had before when he was confronted by Ronan. How this Firenze person had heard of Harry he didn't know nor understand, but it unsettled him to hear they knew he was in the castle.

“Dumbledore said nothing of this to me,” said McGonagall.

“This whole year has made us all uneasy, even him. He's playing this close to the vest. Less people know about it, the better.”

“Firenze asked for him personally?”

“Firenze asked for the boy marked with lightning. There's no one else in the whole school who matches that description.”

“This is not a request that has been made before.”

“There is a first time for everything,” the gamekeeper grumbled. “Firenze needs to speak with the boy personally. That's all Ronan said to me this morning.”

“We don't know what is out there, and they ask to meet the boy at the witching hour?”

“Firenze asked that they meet in daylight. It's us who are sending them when we shouldn't.”

“What is Albus thinking, sending the children into the Forest at night? And against the request as well?”

“He says he's honouring the pact, even sending them out at that time of night. He says they'll meet with him tonight or not at all.”

“Keep them as far from the beast as you can,” she urged him. “And from the blood it's spilled as well.”

“You don't need to ask me to do what I would in the first place,” Hagrid assured her. “They'll all come back in one piece, even Malfoy.”

Harry fled from the door as quickly and quietly as he could. A million thoughts raced through his mind. _What was the beast that was running rampant through the Forest? What was it killing? Who was Firenze, and what did his clan want with him?_

Harry ran to the Great Hall. He found Hermione, Ron, Neville and Susan eating at the Gryffindor table and sat down beside his sister.

“You look flushed,” said Susan. “What's the matter?”

Harry told them what he heard McGonagall and Hagrid discussing.

“Dumbledore could have sent you in the day?” Hermione asked in shock. “But he didn't?”

“Why on earth didn't he?” asked Susan.

Harry didn't want to say what he thought aloud. If he did, he would receive more than a few odd stares and more likely than not, he would be brought before the Headmaster and asked why he would say such a thing. After a run-in with a troll and being nearly shaken from his broom, he couldn't help but think the worst. _I think Dumbledore means to kill me. Before meeting Firenze? After? It doesn't matter. He wants to kill me._

*****HPG*****

It was a quarter to ten when Filch met them at the portrait hole, holding up a lantern and glaring at them.

“Let's go,” he growled. The caretaker led them to the main doors where Malfoy waited with Snape close by.

The caretaker led them out of the castle and across the grounds, muttering about the old days.

“Used to be you'd get dragged down to the dungeons by your hair,” he said. “Hang you by your the wrists from the ceiling for a few days. Oh, Merlin, do I miss the screaming.”

When they came up to Hagrid's hut, Filch banged on the door. Fang barked and scratched at the door. Hagrid opened it and the boarhound jumped across the threshold, eager to see new people. He raced around the children, barking excitedly until Susan put a stop to that by pulling him close and scratching behind his ear.

Hagrid has stepped out of the hut, wielding a battered crossbow with a leather quiver of bolts strapped on his hip. He held several lanterns in his hand, all of them lit.

“Hello, Harry,” Hagrid said cheerfully.

“You shouldn't talk to them like that, Hagrid,” Filch grumbled. “They're here to be punished. You can't coddle them at a time like this. They need a firm hand.”

“You can do things your way, Argus, and I'll do them my way,” Hagrid replied. “You can get back to the castle. I've got things covered here.”

Filch glared at them and stalked away back to the castle, muttering about lily-livered lackwits and what not.

Hagrid looked at them with a sterner look about him. He handed each of them a lantern.

“You're all here for detention,” Hagrid said. “You each got a lantern. Don't lose it. You also got your wands. If there's any trouble in the woods, I want you all to run away from it as fast as you can and shoot up red sparks. Let's practice now.”

They all brought out their wands and practiced shooting red sparks in the air. When they got that down, Hagrid had them practice shooting up green sparks as well, for when they found what they were going into the Forest to find.

“There are some rules to follow before we go,” Hagrid told them. “One, you do exactly what I tell yeh. Two, stick to the path and don't wander off. Three, keep your wits about you and don't panic. Are there any questions?”

Malfoy's hand shot up. “Why do we have to do this?”

“You get caught out after dark and you wonder why you get punished for it?” asked Hagrid.

“This is servant's work,” Draco cried indignantly. “This wasn't why my father sent me here.”

“No, it isn't,” Hagrid sarcastically growled. “Your father sent you here to behave yourself and learn responsibility. And that's what you're doin' right now. If you don't do what I tell ya to do, you best be headin' back to the school, see how long your wand stays intact.”

Malfoy shut up. He said nothing, but kept on glowering at the gamekeeper.

“Right,” said Hagrid satisfied with Draco's response. “Single queue behind me. Nobody walk off the path. Don't be scared. There ain't nothing in these woods that'll hurt you when I'm around.”

They did as the gamekeeper told them and trudged into the woods. Each and every tree looked ready to eat them alive. Nothing appeared kind or benign. It felt more and more like some great beast would leap out and attack one of them at any instant.

Hagrid motioned for Harry to come up beside him as they moved through the woods. Harry had a tough time staying on the path as they move forward, but he stayed as close to the path as he could.

“What were you thinking, Harry?” Hagrid whispered. “Going out after dark like that? Mucking about with that Mirror?”

Harry didn't want to talk about what happened with the Mirror of Erised. He wanted to focus on getting out of the Dark Forest as quickly as he could. He wanted to be as far away from whatever—or whoever—was out here killing things for their blood. There was no telling whether or not it would attack them as well, but Harry was willing to bet it would.

He had expected Hagrid to broach the subject in some way, just not so soon. Against his wishes, Harry spoke to the gamekeeper about how he had sneaked out at night to try and learn more about the Petries.

Hagrid grew worried when Harry mentioned their names, but feigned ignorance about knowing anything of their involvement. “Who are they?” the gamekeeper asked.

“You know who they are,” said Harry. “You and Professor McGonagall talked about them before.”

That brought a more panicked expression from Hagrid. “This ain't none of your business,” he told Harry with the utmost seriousness. “You leave this alone.”

“So, they do have something to do with all this,” said Harry.

“I ain't sayin' nothin',” replied Hagrid in a brusque manner. “You know why?”

“It's none of my business,” Harry intoned, as if he were getting a lecture from his father.

“Damn right,” Hagrid muttered. He stopped dead in his tracks and threw his free arm out to bar Harry's path. It took Harry a moment to see why Hagrid stopped so suddenly. At their feet was puddle of some silvery liquid.

Hagrid squatted down, holding the lantern over the puddle. In the moonlight, it appeared to be like mercury, but not nearly so metallic. It shimmered and looked as though it had once been alive and warm. Harry felt uneasy being so near it.

“Stay put,” the gamekeeper told the children. Hagrid stood back to his full height and walked forward along the path, looking down on the ground for more of the liquid. He sidestepped every bit of the liquid and followed the trail deeper into the forest. Fang stayed put beside Harry. Susan, Ron and Malfoy came up beside him, watching Hagrid as he looked around his surroundings. Malfoy bent down and was about to dip a finger into the puddle. Hagrid returned to the children, trudging along the forest path and kept as far from the liquid on the ground as he could. As he came up and saw Malfoy about to touch it, the gamekeeper cried, “Don't be touching that.”

Malfoy's finger was still less than an inch away from the puddle's surface when he asked in a very haughty manner, “Why?”

“It's unicorn blood,” Hagrid told him.

Malfoy screamed and leapt back from the puddle of silver blood. He did not take his eyes off the puddle at his feet, looking at it as if it were ready to leap up and attack him. Everyone else looked at it with growing fear as well. They all took a large step back from it, even Harry though he didn't understand entirely why everyone was so afraid of it.

Hagrid said gruffly, “Second time this year, one of them's been hurt. They found one dead at the north shore of the lake a few months ago.”

“Who did?” asked Susan.

“The clan that lives out here.”

“People live out here?” asked Malfoy, as if the idea of someone living in the woods were utterly ridiculous.

“People don't,” Hagrid told him, “but they do.” He held the lantern out to light the path. “Whatever hurt the first one got another at some point early this morning, and we're going to find it.”

“What?” Draco cried. “Going deeper into the forest?”

“Where else do you think you're gonna find it?”

“We shouldn't even be out here,” Draco exclaimed. “There are werewolves and...other horrible things.”

“There ain't werewolves around the school. Well, at least, not any more. As long as you stay on the path, you won't get hurt by anything in here. Now, get back into line and don't even step in the stuff.”

They set off deeper into the woods, each of them taking great care not to step in the unicorn's blood where it pooled along the path. The woods grew darker as they ventured further. Harry stayed at the front beside Hagrid.

Hagrid asked him, “What did you see in the Mirror that made you go see it again and again?”

“I saw my mum and dad,” Harry answered with reluctance and worry about their surroundings. “James and Lily, I mean.”

“Why would you go and do that? You had that picture of them I gave you.”

“Yeah, of them,” Harry replied, repeating what he had told his sister. “I saw myself with them and I couldn't get over it. I wanted to see myself beside them, and it was all I could think about.”

Hagrid looked forward to the rest of their path.

“They were good people,” Hagrid said fondly. “They'd be proud of you, no doubt about that. That don't mean you can go out whenever you feel like it.”

“I know, Hagrid. It's a mistake I won't make again.” They continued in silence, until Harry asked, “Have you ever looked at it?”

The question surprised Hagrid as he stammered an answer. “I have,” he answered. “Of course, I always knew what I wanted more than anything in this world.”

“What's that?”

“A dragon,” Hagrid said. “You can't come by them easily. Ministry made it illegal a long time ago, well before I was born.”

“A dragon?” That was odder to hear than when the Headmaster just wanted a pair of socks.

“They're probably the most misunderstood creatures in all the world, Harry. They deserve to be understood for what they really are: damn noble and more than capable of showing you love. If I could show people that, then maybe they might think the same of a lot of other creatures too.”

They continued on until Hagrid stopped in the middle of the path. He looked down, then forward, then to his left and to his right. “Damn!” he growled.

“What's the matter?” asked Harry.

“We're at the Trident,” explained the gamekeeper. “I was hopin' we'd find the poor thing 'fore we got here.”

“The Trident?”

“Fork in the road,” Hagrid answered. He stepped aside to show what lay ahead. The path forked into three distinct paths, each one just as foreboding as the next. On each one they saw the silvery blood spattered and trailed down each one.

“Didn't wanna do this, but we're gonna have to split into groups. Two of you each'll take a path. Ron and Bones—”

“I prefer Susan, thank you,” Susan stated primly.

“Okay, Ron and Susan. You two go down the middle path. I've got the left. Harry and Malfoy, take the path to the right.”

“What?” cried Draco. “No! I'm not going with Potter. He got me stuck out here.”

“You did that yourself!” Harry retorted.

“Oi!” Hagrid yelled, quieting the two boys. “You want to bring that beast down on all of us? Now, you'll do as I say and go with Harry, Malfoy.”

“I'll go with you before I go anywhere alone with him.”

“No, you ain't. The path I'm takin' goes right by the Acromantula nest.” Ron whimpered as he heard where Hagrid was going. “They ain't gonna hurt me none, but they'll make their next meal outta you if you get too close. Now, go with Potter.”

“If I go with Potter, then Fang is coming with us,” said Draco.

“Fine, now let's get going. Remember, you find the unicorn, shoot up green sparks. First sign of trouble, shoot up red ones and run as fast as you can.”

Ron and Susan went down the middle path. As Hagrid began down the path to the left, he stopped and turned back to Harry and Malfoy. He called to them, “Oh, Malfoy! Before you go on your way, there's something you ought to know. Fang's a coward!”

The giant boarhound let out a whimper as he looked at his master walking away from him. Susan and Ron went down the middle path. Ron glanced back at Harry and Malfoy in worry before Susan pulled him along down the middle path.

“Let's go,” Harry said.

“Who made you the leader?” Malfoy asked with a sneer.

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get back to the castle. Now, come on.”

Harry trudged along the path, holding the lantern out to light the way. He held his wand tightly in his other hand. Malfoy scoffed at him while the walked.

“Do you even know how to defend yourself?” Malfoy asked as they went deeper into the woods.

“I know enough,” Harry replied. “Let's go.”

The two boys marched along the path, both of them taking great care to avoid the blood that stained the ground. All the while, Malfoy complained as they walked.

“This is unacceptable,” he said as they rounded a bend. “My father will never stand for this. That oaf is going to lose his job for this.”

“Hagrid had nothing to do with putting us out here,” Harry snapped.

“Well, someone should suffer for this.”

“Will you shut up and help me look for the thing?” Harry grumbled.

“Why? It's not like you know why we have to stay away from it, or the unicorn.”

“Why would we need to stay away from the unicorn?”

“You don't know?” Malfoy laughed. “Of course you don't. It doesn't surprise me. Harry Potter, raised by Muggles, doesn't know a thing about Magic or anything about our world.”

“You had your fun,” Harry growled. “Why do we need to stay away from the unicorn?”

“Its blood,” replied Malfoy. “Apart from its horn, a unicorn's blood is the most dangerous part of those things.”

“Why?”

Malfoy was about to answer when they heard a raspy growl sound through the woods. They held their lanterns out to look. In a clearing up ahead, they saw some large black mass shifting in the distance. It shifted slightly more and revealed a gleaming white form just under it.

Harry drew closer. Malfoy grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back.

“Are all you Gryffindors bloody idiots?” he hissed. “That oaf told us to run if we saw that thing.”

“We need to see what it is,” Harry replied. “We need to tell Hagrid as much about this thing as we can.”

“It's big, it's mean, it really drinks blood. That's all we need to tell him.”

“We need to see if it really is what we're looking for.” Harry broke Malfoy's grip on his arm and pulled Malfoy with him, closer to the beast. They crept forward as quietly as they could. The beast did not notice them drawing closer. It kept feeding, lapping at the blood still seeping from the poor creature's wounds.

They hid behind a large fir tree and peeked around it. Still, the beast did not notice them. A loud crack from a branch turned their heads. The beast perked its head up to see where the sound came from. The pain erupted behind Harry's scar and he yelped as it flooded over him.

The beast heard them. It turned back to face them, argentine blood dribbling of its chin. It was as tall as a man and wore a black cloak that billowed as a breeze blew through the clearing. Standing to its full height, it set upon them.

Malfoy screamed. Fang yelped. There were rapid footfalls as he heard Malfoy's screaming fading off into the distance and Fang close behind him.

Harry had fallen on his back, struggling to overcome the pain that kept him from escaping. The beast was almost upon him, its breath raspy with a growl. The pain seared in Harry's forehead and overtook him entirely. There was not one part of his body that didn't flare up in pain as the thing that fed on the unicorn approached. Everything around him was a blur. Harry could feel nothing but panic set upon him. He wanted to run, but the pain was too great.

A whistling rang through the night air, followed by the sound of something burying itself in the ground. The beast let out a startled cry as something thundered into the clearing. Harry could make out hoofbeats as some rider on horseback skidded to a halt between him and the beast.

“Be gone, foul brute!” the rider cried fiercely, swinging something at the beast to drive it back, away from the boy and the fallen creature. There was a gruff quality in the voice that made Harry think it was a man. The rider cried again, “Be gone, or you will find my next arrow in your heart.”

The beast snarled and fled deep into the forest.

The pain subsided and Harry's vision cleared. He saw the rider gazing at the sky, particularly on a glimmering red dot up in the black sky. Several arrows had driven themselves into the ground

“Mars shines brightly,” he muttered. “Brighter than it should be. How strange...”

It was then that Harry finally took notice of the true form of his rescuer. The rider held a bow in their hand and had a quiver full of arrows strapped across his back.

As his vision cleared even more, he saw not a rider on a horse, but that horse and rider were one. The rescuer had a man's torso bonded to a horse's gleaming auburn body with a wild beard and long locks of red hair, almost as red as any Weasley's, pulled back into a pony tail.

The being took notice of the boy and approached him.

“Are you all right, child?” the centaur asked kindly.

“You're a centaur!” Harry almost yelled.

“Have you not seen my kind before?”

“Only in pictures.”

“Then I am honoured to be the first you have ever met in person, Harry Potter.”

“How do you know my name?” Harry asked in surprise.

“I recognise your scar.” The centaur helped Harry to his feet. “Your story is legendary. It is well-known, even outside the realms of men. The stars portended that I would meet a child lost in these woods. It is more than a great surprise to see it is you that I have met.”

“What do I call you?”

“I am called Ronan,” the centaur replied.

“You're Ronan?”

“You have heard of me?” Ronan asked, sounding very surprised.

“Only in passing,” Harry said.

He asked in a concerned voice, “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Harry answered. “I just feel out of sorts from running into that...thing.”

The centaur glared in the direction the foe had fled, but returned his attention to the boy before him.

“You are far too young to be wandering in these woods alone,” Ronan stated, much more sternly than before. “Why are you out here?”

“Hagrid brought me and some other students out here for detention,” Harry told him. “We had split up a little while ago and Malfoy, the boy I was with, he ran off with Hagrid's dog after we saw that thing feeding on the unicorn.”

Ronan turned to the dead unicorn, its wound still fresh, the last of its blood still glistening in the moonlight. “Always the innocent are the first victims...” he muttered.

“What was that thing?” Harry asked. “The beast that was feeding on it.”

“I know not what it was,” Ronan told him, “only that it wants something within your castle. Do you know what resides there? The prize that beast seeks?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I only know he tried to steal it before, whatever it is. We think it belongs to someone from Devon.”

The crack of a branch sounded clearly through the woods. Ronan quickly nocked an arrow, drew it back, and pointed it in the direction of the sound, to the south of them. A light swayed as several figures raced up to the hollow. Hagrid, Ron, Susan, and Draco ran into the hollow, panicked. Fang bounded in after them. The dog skittered to a halt and hid behind his master when he saw the unicorn. Hagrid had his crossbow drawn, and held it aloft before he caught sight of Ronan. The giant man and the centaur lowered their weapons, their demeanours changing to a higher regard of the other.

“Hello, Ronan,” Hagrid said.

“Hagrid,” Ronan replied. He looked upon Ron, Susan and Draco, then back to Harry. With a stern look about him, he strode up to Hagrid, saying in a very put off tone of voice, “Might I have a word in private?”

Hagrid sullenly assented to Ronan's request, following the centaur to a copse of oak scrub nearby. Ronan called to Harry to join them, and Harry came.

“By Chiron's flanks, what were you thinking!” growled Ronan at the gamekeeper. “Leading younglings into the Forest, knowing what dangers lurk here at night!”

“We had to find the unicorn,” Hagrid told the centaur.

“With these children? Not trained witches and wizards that could stop the beast for good?”

“What are you complaining about? You wanted a meeting with Harry, didn't you?”

“Firenze did,” the centaur replied. “In daylight. When no child would come to harm. We warned your Headmaster what would happen if he sent the passel to us on this night, but did he listen?”

“Dumbledore does as he sees fit,” Hagrid told him. “You know that as well as I do. McGonagall spoke against bringing the children here at midnight, as did I, but here we are. Best make the most of it.”

“You will stress to him the importance of our words at your next meeting, or there shall be consequences.”

“I'm well-aware, and I will speak with him,” said Hagrid, removing the quarrel from his crossbow, and slinging the weapon over his shoulder. “Didn't figure Bane would let you stray this far from your camp if things are as bad as you say.”

“As you said, we needed to find the unicorn. He may bray all he wishes, but even Bane cannot argue that a slain unicorn is a trifling matter, to anyone.”

“Did you see what did it?”

“It is a beast unlike any I have ever seen. It took the form of a man and was flesh and bone, but mist and shadow as well. It left no tracks and ran as if on the wind. Harry Potter and I witnessed it feasting on the innocent, as did the blond boy who fled to save his own hide.” He asked Harry, “That is the boy who ran away, yes?”

Harry nodded. The centaur pointed to the castle and said in an accusing tone, “The beast took flight toward your castle.”

“Whatever it is, it ain't no one in our school that did it,” Hagrid uttered uneasily.

“It will take more than that to convince Bane, Hagrid. He has spoken more and more of retaliation. He may even call for a moot on this. If the rest of the clan votes in his favour, nothing Firenze or I can do will stop him.”

“We will find this damned thing,” Hagrid told him with strong determination. “If any of us see it again or hear any more of its dealings, we will come directly to you.”

“As will we to you.”

“We'll leave you to tend to the unicorn,” Hagrid said with slight trepidation. He turned away and made his way back to the other kids.

“Thank you all for helping us find it,” Ronan said to the gamekeeper.

 

Hagrid went to the kids. “Come on, lads,” Hagrid cried. “Back to the castle.”

Ron and Malfoy quickly followed. Susan was more reluctant to follow them, wanting to see the beautiful creature laid to rest. Harry was about to start after them, until he felt Ronan's hand grip onto his shoulder.

“Hagrid,” called Ronan, stopping the gamekeeper in his tracks. “I shall lead Harry Potter back to your home once he concludes his business with Firenze.”

Ron and Susan looked in shock at the centaur and their friend. Even Malfoy was surprised to hear what Ronan had said.

“How long?” asked Hagrid, wary of what would take place.

“That is for Firenze to decide.”

“You bring him back by sunrise, or I'm coming to get him.” He turned around and went back the way he had come. Ron and Susan gave Harry a worried wave goodbye, and dashed off to rejoin the search party.

Harry was left alone with the centaur Ronan.

“Come along, Harry Potter,” the centaur told Harry.

“What about the unicorn?”

“My clan shall tend to it after I take you where you need to go. Come. We must make haste.”

Ronan picked Harry up and set him on his back. Harry held on tightly, wincing when the centaur bounded over logs and dips in the woods. The centaur galloped through the woods for what felt like ten minutes until they came upon another hollow, this one set up with a great many shelters lit by torchlight. As Ronan rode into the settlement, many of the other centaurs poked their heads outside to see who had arrived. One broke out of his shelter and ran to Ronan in a full gait. The centaur was much more wild-looking than Ronan. He had a black body with black mane and tail to match. His hard face was set into a scowl as he skidded to a halt in Ronan and Harry's path.

“Ronan, what do you think you are doing?” the black centaur yelled. “Bringing one of the castle's foals into our camp, like some common mule?”

“We had to get to the camp quickly, Bane,” Ronan told the black centaur, letting Harry down to the ground without breaking his gaze. “We could not delay.”

“Have you no pride, Ronan?” Bane growled. “Why would you play the packhorse like this?”

Ronan let Harry down to the ground without taking his eyes off of Bane. “This youngling is the boy Firenze sent for, Bane.”

The black centaur glowered at Harry. “If the boy were foolish enough to come into the woods at night, it was his fate to die. We are bound not to intervene.”

“Have you seen the stars this night?” Ronan shouted. “Have you forgotten the pact with the humans? Ought I have left him to the spiders, or to the unicorn-slayer? That beast nearly KILLED THE BOY!” Bane quailed slightly at Ronan's outburst, glaring obstinately. “Now, if you have something more important to say, I'll let you speak your mind. Until then, the soothsayer awaits.”

Bane glared at his fellow centaur and at Harry, before stepping aside and saying, “Then, take the foal to Firenze. You will lead me to the unicorn when your duty is done.”

Ronan nodded his assent to Bane, before he led Harry away, further into the centaurs' encampment. Nearly all the centaurs looked on Harry with distrust and apprehension. Harry looked at them with only apprehension, unsure of how the beings truly regarded him.

Ronan led Harry to a new hollow, much more serene than both the encampment and where they found the unicorn, with a pristine area of grass surrounding a glistening pond. Standing at the edge of the pond, gazing up at the clear night sky, was another centaur with a palomino's body and locks of pale blond hair.

“Firenze!” Ronan called out. The other centaur looked over their shoulder to see their fellow centaur standing beside a human child. The palomino centaur strode up to them. As it drew closer, Harry saw this one was a female, her face impassive but bearing kind eyes. Her human torso was dressed in something resembling a bodice made of deerskin and she walked with great dignity and poise.

“This is the lightning-marked boy,” Ronan told the centaur named Firenze. “The one you sent for.”

“Yes, it is,” Firenze said in a detached voice. “How did you find him, Ronan?”

“The foe that slayed the unicorns was feasting on its newest kill,” Ronan explained. “It was about to attack the boy when I intervened.”

“It escaped?”

“My priority was to defend the boy, as you urged me to do.”

“Thank you, Ronan,” said Firenze, before adding, “Leave us, please.”

Ronan gave Firenze a respectful bow before he trotted away from the clearing, leaving Harry alone with this new centauress. Firenze warmed to Harry considerably more once Ronan left.

“Harry Potter,” Firenze exclaimed. “I am called Firenze. I am honoured to meet you.”

“Me too,” said Harry, much more timidly than he wanted that to sound.

“You need not be frightened, dear boy,” the centauress assured him. “We asked you be brought here to help you.”

“How?”

“Do you know what I do for my clan?”

“They called you a soothsayer.”

“And do you know what that is?”

“It's a fortune teller, isn't it?”

Firenze's face soured at the description, but she took on a kinder expression as she explained, “A belittling description, which is unfortunately all too concise in its bluntness. No, a soothsayer in a centaur clan provides guidance in all of their clan's affairs, even that of its leader. We provide our wisdom every way we can, most often through the finest of the arts of Divination.”

“So, why ask that I come into your camp if human affairs are not your concern?”

“Many times, human affairs become our affairs,” the centauress explained. “Great events are unfolding within your keep. Those events concern you, your friends, and your teachers. It is Bane who does not wish to involve us in them.

“Knowing what I know of the Headmaster, I am certain he wanted you here at the witching hour because it is the best time to glean the portents of the future,” she told him. “I foresaw that he would not send you to me when I requested. He does as best serves him, and his staff and students, but never would he allow a child to die at our hands, or anyone else. Nor would we. We came far too close to tragedy when Ronan stopped the Shade from attacking you.”

“The Shade?” Harry asked, entirely unfamiliar with the term. “What do you mean?”

“What you encountered this night was a wizard who is neither ghost nor flesh, and seeks to regain what once had been his body,” Firenze explained. “The blood of the unicorn gives him life, but only for a short while, and at a most costly price. To take the life of a creature as innocent as a unicorn, and to drink of its essence, is to live a half-life, a cursed life, from which no penance shall ever atone.”

“Who would do such a thing?”

Firenze pressed Harry. “Can you think of no one who would forsake anyone, anything to regain his true form?”

There was one person. Harry kept hearing people speak about him as if he were still alive. They had no proof to say that was the case, but the more he heard the tales he couldn't say there wasn't any ground to believe otherwise.

“Do you mean that thing—that Shade—was...Voldemort?” Harry asked, fear permeating every syllable he uttered.

“A fate worse than death befell him and he strives to reverse it, by any means necessary.”

“And he wants whatever is in the school to do it?”

“Yes. As I said, it became all too important that you be warned of the dangers to occur,” Firenze said. She gazed down upon him, and spoke with great seriousness. “The Headmaster has his reasons for not revealing everything to you. Regardless of that, I do know this: Fate would not have me speak to you of what is to come were our paths not to cross. I cannot tell you everything, but I will show you what I have seen.”

“Seen?” Harry asked.

“Come,” she said simply. Firenze began to walk to the pond. She looked over her shoulder and motioned for Harry to come to her side. Harry followed her to the edge of the pond. He could see why Firenze favoured this spot. It had a brilliant view of the night sky. Flowers stood all around them, the blooms closed tightly in waiting for the day. The pond was clear and unpolluted, even by dirt or algae.

“Ours is a race that follows the omens of the stars,” explained the centauress. “A select few of us are also able to divine what is to pass through scrying.”

“Are you one of them?” asked Harry unsurely.

“I am,” Firenze answered simply. “However, I prefer that the stars tell me of the coming changes. I come here to see some of the more dire omens, and when the stars are too vague.”

The cenaturess took a flint and struck it over a bowl full of herbs. Sparks fell and a flame caught. Smoke rose and curled in the air. She took a red flower bulb into her hand and squeezed it over the pond. The plant's sap landed in the water and clouded the water. Firenze offered what remained of the sap to Harry.

“Sip on this,” she said. “Kneel beside the bowl. You will see what shall pass.”

Harry sipped the sap unsurely and gazed at he surface of the pond.

“Gaze into the water,” Firenze told him. “Not into the depths. You will see nothing in the depths but water.”

Harry nodded at her instructions and tried to focus on the pond's surface. He felt his a dizzying haze wash over him as he peered at the pond's surface. The shimmer from moonlight and the rippling of the surface brought something into his vision. It entranced him and rooted him as he knelt down at the edge. He finally saw something becoming clearer and clearer until he felt like he was experiencing the images before him...

 

_He could see a man, draped in purple, walking feebly through a desolate waste until he stood at the edge of a great abyss. As he looked closer, he saw that the man had two faces, one on the left, the other on the right, looking in those directions. Both faces were hidden in the growing shadow of seven mountains, becoming darker as the sun set on the horizon._

_The man knelt at the edge of the chasm just as Harry had knelt at the edge of the pond, coveting what lay within its depths. The sun hid itself entirely from the sky._

_From that unfathomable crevasse rose an orb of the darkest black that quickly turned to brightest white, then into the most golden yellow. Harry thought the orb would stop changing or disappear._

_But it didn't._

_It changed again. The orb changed its colour to a red that looked both as bright as the freshest apple and as dark as a man's blood. The two-faced man took hold of the red orb. The orb grew brighter and brighter until it blinded nearly everything._

_The man issued a guttural, blood-curdling scream as the orb's light tore him apart. When the bright light died away, the orb was gone and the two-faced man was split into two whole men. One man fell to the ground, still and lifeless, while dark clouds gathered over the second man. Harry saw the new man raise his hand to the heavens. He was holding a wand and pointing it toward the sky. From it came the green light. The man brought the wand back down and the green light flew straight at Harry—_

 

Harry leapt back from the pond, scrambling back to get as far away as possible. He was drenched in the cold sweat that sullied him after so many nightmares. His breath, just as rapid. It wasn't until the centauress stood beside him that Harry was brought back to reality. He scrambled onto his feet, looking at her in a terror that did not abate.

“You did not finish,” said Firenze, her voice worried.

“There was more?” asked Harry.

“Lightning comes from above and strikes down the new man. That is how the vision ends.”

“You think the lightning is me?”

With a more foreboding tone, she said, “It is your mark, is it not?”

His hand flew to his scar on impulse. “It's just a scar.”

“It is a mark of death. Death that you have faced and survived, far sooner than anyone should have. I fear you may need to face it again.”

“By doing what?”

“Confronting the foe that you defeated.”

“Go up against him? V-Voldemort?” asked Harry, utterly disbelieving.

“There is no one better suited to the task.”

“What about Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore will be away from the school when the time comes.”

“But, but, I'm just a first-year student.”

“There have been younger heroes.”

“I barely know any magic. The other teachers—”

“This is your task!” the centauress yelled. “Not the Potions Master, not the Scotswoman, not even the gamekeeper! You! NO one else will stop him, but YOU!”

“But, I'm just a boy!” Harry cried.

That outburst softened Firenze's hard look. She helped him to his feet and rested a comforting hand upon his shoulder as her pale blue eyes gazed deeply into his green eyes. It may have brought on more confidence than he felt before, but the fear of again facing the man who tried to kill him did not abate.

“These are not easy tidings to receive, I know. But, this duty cannot fall to another, Harry Potter. You must not let the Shade take hold of the prize. The consequences are far too grim should he lay his hands on it.”

“Who will protect me?”

“You are already protected. In more ways than you know.”

The air was heavy and colder than before. Harry looked over at the pond, but looked away as he didn't want another glimpse into the future. One had been more than enough. With that, Firenze guided him away from the pond. “Now, we must return you to Hagrid and my clan must tend to the fallen innocent.”

Firenze led him back to the camp, where Ronan waited for him, who regarded Harry as kindly as when they first met. Waiting beside him was Bane, glowering at the human boy that had the gall to show his face in their camp. Ronan led Harry out of the camp and back through the forest. Harry walked as he did not want to ride on Ronan's back again. The woods felt less dangerous as they made their way to Hagrid's hut. No longer were they so foreboding that he felt as if danger lurked behind every rock and tree. There was a calm that alleviated his worries and made him forget them

They neared the edge of the woods. Hagrid's hut was clear as day, some curling into the air from its chimney. The gamekeeper waited beside his garden, the crossbow ready to loose a bolt. When they cleared the treeline, Hagrid unloaded it and slung the weapon over his shoulder, relieved to see Harry again.

Ronan stopped him before they went to the hut.

“I know not what the soothsayer told you, but I urge you to heed her words,” Ronan advised him. “I sense bad times will come to pass. A boy such as you does not deserve to fall victim to them. Rise to meet them and overcome them. Good night, and be well.”

Ronan left him to rejoin his friends and Hagrid. The centaur stopped at the treeline and gazed up at the night sky once more. Harry looked to where Ronan did. There was a red light among all the stars that shone brighter than they did.

Mars. The bringer of courage...and conflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter features the only gender-swapped character in my treatment. It didn't feel right to me to see only male centaurs in the books when we'd seen mermaids and a female house-elf, and the name Firenze, like the city for which the character was named, always made me think of a woman more than a man. Thus, Firenze became a female centaur in here.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter. Stay tuned for the next.


	16. The Great Work and the Burning Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Sixteen  
**The Great Work and the Burning Rock**

 

The walk back to the castle was silent. Harry didn't speak with anyone, Hagrid or his friends, about what he discussed with Firenze. He could only think of the slain unicorn as he walked back.

When they got back to their dormitory, they went straight to bed. Harry lay awake on his bed, going over and over the night's events in his mind. He kept expecting to fall asleep, but it never. Over and over, he saw the images of the slain unicorn Regardless of whatever else he tried to ponder—what would be on Snape's final exam, what to get his mother for her birthday—his mind still returned to that gruesome sight.

It wasn't until he began thinking about his meeting with Firenze that that gruesome sight left his mind. He remembered everything as if were happening again there in his dormitory. Meeting Firenze in that clearing, being led to the pond, seeing the two-faced man take hold of the orb of light.

The four colours...

_Black, white, yellow, red..._

_Black, white, yellow, red..._

He lay in his four poster staring at the canopy until sunrise broke over the horizon, thinking of the four colours and what they signified.

_Black, white, yellow, red..._

He couldn't come up with anything, so he packed up his books and things for class.

*****HPG*****

News of their detention spread quickly. Malfoy had bragged about how he saved Harry's hide from the beast in the woods and drove it away, but feigned regret at not being able to save the unicorn. Everyone else thought he was just lying about his detention. Only three people—Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson—truly believed his story. The rest of the Slytherins still taunted Harry about nearly dying, however.

Thankfully, news of the centaurs' possible retaliation did not reach the rest of the school. The clan had not made any attempts at demanding recompense for the deaths of the unicorns over the year. No one, in fact, realised the clan existed, save for the teachers, Malfoy, and Harry and his friends.

They had their next Herbology lesson that afternoon. Professor Sprout told everyone to get into pairs and repot several of the school's plants. Harry and Hermione elected to work together. As they tended to some of the dittany plants, she broached the subject of Harry's detention.

“How did it go last night?” she asked him.

“Well, we survived,” Harry answered sarcastically.

“Obviously,” Hermione replied, matching his tone. “Really, though. What happened?”

“We went into the woods. Hagrid took us out there to find a dead unicorn.”

Harry began explaining what had transpired in the Dark Forest in as quiet a voice as he could without drawing Professor Sprout's attention or that of the other students. Hermione gasped as he recounted his newest close call with death.

“It was a Shade,” Harry added.

“A Shade?”

“A wizard that lost his body, but isn't dead,” he explained.

“I know what it is, Harry,” Hermione replied. “Why is there a Shade in the Forest?”

“It's killing unicorns for their blood,” Harry added. “That's what the centaur told me.”

“You saw a centaur?” cried Hermione.

“Ronan,” he answered, quieting his sister so they wouldn't attract any attention. “That's what he is. A bunch of them live out there.”

She grew more intrigued as Harry went on about the politics within the centaur clan and how Bane might retaliate against Hogwarts for the unicorns' deaths. When he recounted his meeting with Firenze and the vision she showed him.

“The orb changed to a fourth colour?” she asked.

“It did. When it was yellow, I thought it might disappear or something. Instead, it turned red.”

“Red?”

“Then, when he grabbed it, it tore him apart, into two men. One fell over dead, the other held a wand and unleashed the green light.”

Hermione grew pale at the thought of what he saw. The worry she felt grew more and more evident as she looked on her brother.

“Harry, the two-faced man, you don't think that it means...him, do you?”

Harry gulped and nodded. He answered in his bravest voice, “Firenze explained that it wasn't just any Shade. She said the Shade was Voldemort.”

She flinched at the sound of the Dark wizard's name. Living around witches and wizards had affected them in some interesting ways. For one thing, their superstition about uttering the name of the worst Dark wizard in recent memory had gotten to Hermione.

“And Snape is helping him,” Harry added.

“Harry, that might not be true,” Hermione said.

“It is true,” Harry retorted. “Every time Snape has been either staring straight at me or gotten angry, my scar has flared up in pain. He has something to do with it. Why else would he sabotage my broomstick?”

The class ended. Everyone packed up their things and made their way to their next class with Quirrell. The Dark Arts teacher appeared rather wan with dark circles under his eyes. Despite his appearance, though, the teacher was much more chipper than he appeared and set the students to studying their current chapter. On top of all that, he seemed to stammer less than usual.

When that class ended, everyone filed out to have supper. Harry and Hermione regrouped and resumed their conversation.

“Even if Snape is behind all this, you have no proof at all that he is,” Hermione told Harry.

“I know he's involved, and so is Dumbledore.”

“That sounds even more ridiculous.”

The Dark Arts made his way out of the classroom, seeming more confident than he usually did. The professor told the children to study well, as their final test would be the most difficult thing they might yet face. He bustled off, leaving the children to resume their conversation.

“Mum and Dad don't trust him,” said Harry.

“That doesn't mean you shouldn't,” said Hermione.

“He could have sent us out in the day to do all this, but he didn't. Why?”

“Firenze told you that Divination works best at the witching hour, right? Maybe he really did want you to see what Firenze saw a lot better.”

Harry remained unconvinced, but still accepted it as a possible motivation.

“We should try and find out more about the Petries or what that orb represents,” he said.

“I've been trying,” she told him. “I can't find anything on them.”

“Well, try harder.”

“I have to study,” she said, “like you should be.” She marched past and up the stairs to Ravenclaw Tower to get away from her brother.

“But, you'll still look for them, right?”

“Good night, Harry,” she called down the stairs, in a tone that seemed to also say, “Yes, but I won't be happy about it,” and “How old are you? Go look it up yourself.”

*****HPG*****

The weeks passed from winter to the very beginnings of spring. Homework piled upon homework, as the teachers grew more and more stern. Snape was pretty much vindictive to anyone that screwed up their Potion or wrote a bad essay. McGonagall was just as stern but much more forgiving, if only by a slim margin.

Hagrid kept to himself more as the weeks went by. Whenever Harry and his friends stopped by to say hello, Hagrid would give them a gruff acknowledgment before muttering that he had things he needed to do and secluding himself in his hut. Hagrid began spending more and more time alone in there. He refused guests frequently and never spoke of his plans or his work. No matter when he was in his hut, children and teachers would always see a plume of smoke rising from the chimney.

“What is he doing in there?” Harry asked Neville one day.

“I heard Professor Sprout saying that Hagrid had gone down to Hogsmeade one evening,” Neville answered. “She said he came back with something he wouldn't show anyone.”

“Something that has him leaving a fire on even when he's out of his hut?”

“Apparently.”

The behaviour was well noticed throughout the school. They had seen the gamekeeper skulking about the library looking for something among the stacks. When Madam Pince had asked him what he was looking for, he muttered that it wasn't any of her business and left without another word. Despite his odd new conduct, his performance at his job did not suffer, so no one really spoke against it.

Hermione had little time to look for anything pertaining to Nick or Nell Petrie. Harry asked her every day to see if she had found anything concerning them. She grew more irritated as he asked her more and more of what she learned about them. To his dismay, she had not found a jot of information concerning the mystery couple. To his fright, he found that Hermione was growing angrier as he asked her again and again of what she had learned, if anything.

That was until one day.

They had sat down in the library for a study session on a Saturday at the beginning of March. Ron was busy opening a package from his mother that had arrived shortly before they'd finished breakfast. The package's late arrival was due mostly to the condition of the grey owl, which turned out to belonged to the Weasley family, that brought it. The package was a letter telling him to work hard and have a great time at school. She had sent a Chocolate Frog along with it so he could have the card. Ron tore open the box with glee and caught the Frog. He looked in the box to see what card it held and let out a groan.

“Dumbledore again,” he muttered. He threw the card away. It twisted in the air and flew into the side of Hermione's head. She looked up and glared at him as if ready to tear him limb from limb.

“Will you stop mucking about?” she snapped.

“Sorry, Hermione,” Ron said.

Hermione picked up the card off her parchment and pointed it at him like a thief would hold a knife. She thrust it at Ron just as well.

“What is it going to take to get you to take all this seriously?” she snarled. “You could learning to do amazing things but all you want to do is play with cards.”

She was about to toss it back to Ron when something in the card caught her eye.

 

 _ Albus Dumbledore  
_ _Currently Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry_

 

_Regarded by many as the greatest wizard of modern times, Albus Dumbledore is best known for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, his discovery of the twelve uses for dragon's blood, and for his work in alchemy with the preeminent alchemist Nicolas Flamel._

 

Hermione gazed at the card in astonishment. She fell deep into thought as she read and reread the small biography again and again until her eyes moved so fast across the blurb that either her head or the card would catch aflame.

“Professor Dumbledore worked with Nicolas Flamel?” she finally asked aloud, dropping the card back onto her parchment.

“Yeah,” Ron replied. “You asked that before, you know.”

“I did?”

“On the train coming here, the 1 st  of September. I told you that he's worked with just about everyone.”

“Wait. Nicolas Flamel is still alive? I thought he passed away in the 15 th  century, him and his wife.”

“There were some stories spread about their deaths,” said Susan, “but that was just to give people around them a story about their disappearance. They are still alive, at least that's what my mum and dad told me about them.”

“So, if he didn't die, how is he still alive?” asked Harry.

“The Magnum Opus,” Hermione replied in a most vague tone of voice.

Before she could explain further, she dashed off, leaving them all confused, and saying, “Give me a moment. I need to find something.”

Harry, Susan, Neville and Ron sat, dumbstruck about what had just happened. Hermione raced through the stacks, searching for something that she needed desperately. They watched as her bushy brown hair trailed behind her as she threw open book after book, only to stow each one back where she found them. She finally found a book about the size of a block of concrete, and Harry guessed it weighed nearly as much, though she carried it as if it weighed no more than a feather. She dashed over and set the book on the table with a heavy thud that would have attracted the attention of Madam Pince if she had been nearby.

“What the hell is that?” Ron asked.

“It's a book,” Hermione explained, in a very obvious tone. “People make them, put words in them, then you read them. Or, in your case, you use them as a coaster for your tea.”

“I know what a book is,” Ron exclaimed. “Why's it so big?”

“It's a compendium. I checked it out weeks ago for some light reading.”

“I'd hate to see what you consider heavy reading,” Ron retorted.

Hermione shot him a look that quelled any further remarks he might have had. She flipped through the pages, running her finger down each page, before finally stopping and triumphantly jabbing a page in the very middle of the book.

“Here it is!” she cried. “The Magnum Opus is the process through which an alchemist creates the Philosopher's Stone.”

They all stared at her in disbelief, before Susan asked, “You mean it's that stuff that can change things like lead into gold?”

“Exactly,” Hermione explained. “Only that's not the only thing it's good for. Listen...”

The four friends leaned forward as she read from the passage:

 

 _“The ancient art of alchemy is focused on a great many objectives, but none captivates or inspires any alchemist more than the expertise and hopeful completion of the process called the Great Work_ . _The_ Magnum Opus _, as it is known in alchemical circles, is the creation of the legendary substance known as_ Lapis Philosophorum, _the Philosopher's Stone._

 _“This notoriously complex process involves developing and maturing the Philosopher's Stone through its four stages: the_ nigredo, _where the Stone starts with a deep black colour similar almost to a lump of coal; the_ albedo, _where the Stone's hue turns to a pure white; the_ citrinitas, _when it turns clear and takes on a more yellow hue, almost similar to pale amber; and finally the_ rubedo, _where the finished Stone takes on its oft-fabled shade of red. The white and red varieties are the most viable of the four types, but it is the red Stone which is the most coveted, as it is the most mature form._

_“Very few alchemists have succeeded in mastering it. The few that have done so include such notable alchemists as Geber and husband and wife Nicolas & Perenelle Flamel._

_“With the fully matured Stone, a wizard can perform any alchemical experiment he so chooses. Wizards most often elect from the two most common choices. The first is to use the Stone in the transmutation of base metals (e.g., lead and iron) into the noble metals (e.g., gold and silver). When this is achieved, he may gain great wealth as a result of his efforts. The second choice, and by far the more difficult, is to brew the Stone into the Elixir of Life, a potion with regenerative abilities so powerful that it has been said to heal any wound or ailment the drinker may have, provide extended longevity for the drinker, and is even said to revive a person previously thought to be dead._

_“The only known makers of the Stone presently living are the aforesaid Flamels. Though their current whereabouts are unknown, it is reported that they have recently celebrated their six-hundred-and-twenty-fourth wedding anniversary.”_

 

All five friends looked at each other in awe. Harry gazed upon the passage with mixed sentiments. He was amazed by what he had heard and enticed by it as well.

“The Philosopher's Stone,” Ron said, cutting some of the tension. “Bloody hell. No wonder You-Know-Who wants it.”

“Except he doesn't have a body,” Hermione said. “That's what you said, wasn't it, Harry?”

“He can't take hold of it himself. He has to have someone do all the dirty work for him: Snape. Snape is after it so he can give Voldemort a new body.”

Everyone cringed at the mention of the Dark wizard's name.

“Even if that's the case,” Hermione replied, “we have no proof. We don't know where Mr Flamel is or if he really is involved in all this, or whether this truly is what the staff is hiding in the castle.”

“It is,” said Harry. “I know it is.”

“Just like you know Dumbledore wants the Stone as well?”

The three friends stared at Harry in disbelief.

“He's involved in all this,” Harry replied defensively.

“You mean in a way that doesn't include setting a three-headed dog in front of it?”

“It is the Philosopher's Stone that they are guarding,” Harry said with near unfailing certainty. “Either Snape or Dumbledore are after it. I know it.”

 

“How? Because of your dreams? Because of some fanciful vision from a centaur?”

“McGonagall brought it back here. She had to have done so.”

“She didn't. She went straight to Devon after she helped us in Diagon Alley. Who else could have brought it here?”

Harry thought about the events of that day. He remembered how McGonagall guided them to Diagon Alley, showed them to Gringotts, and when Hagrid met them in front of the bank. Then, he remembered something else. Something he didn't remember before.

He saw McGonagall walking by Hagrid, leading his mother and father down the Alley. When she passed him, her hand brushed against his pocket. He remembered now. She had put something in his pocket when she walked past him. It must have been the package she took from Gringotts. Hagrid must have brought the Stone to Hogwarts while McGonagall lured the thief away from them, far enough away from the Stone that the thief couldn't get back to it in time.

“I think I know how it got here,” Harry said. “Come on.”

Harry marched out of the library with Hermione and the rest of them close on his tail. Not one of them knew what Harry was thinking, but they followed Harry without question. As he dashed through the school, the thought that Hagrid was involved with this gave him chills. He couldn't understand why the gamekeeper would be involved in something so clandestine.

 _He's done stuff like before_ , a voice in his head told him. _You didn't show up on your family's doorstep on a whim, now, did you?_

He pushed that thought aside as he led them down to Hagrid's hut. His friends asked him repeatedly where they were going. Not until they saw where Harry was headed did they stop asking.

Hermione stopped him where he was and spun him around to face her.

“Hagrid?” she asked him through gritted teeth. “You don't know for certain that he had anything to do with bringing it here.”

“He was there that day,” Harry said. “Professor McGonagall slipped something into his jacket.”

“You think he did,” she told him. “Harry, you could be imagining what you saw McGonagall do in Diagon Alley.”

“Then, let's ask him,” Harry replied.

Harry marched onward to the gamekeeper's hut. Everyone else followed him in trepidation. When he arrived, he knocked on Hagrid's door. The gamekeeper threw open the door, looking around wildly as if he were looking for anyone that might do him harm. A wave of heat surged out of the hut with him. Hagrid was sweating profusely and the heat and humidity made his bushy hair and beard even bushier.

“Hello,” said Hagrid cheerfully. “Sorry, but I can't talk now. I'll send an owl when I'm ready to have company.”

He pulled the door shut and locked it.

To the closed door, Harry cried, “Hagrid, we know what Fluffy is guarding.”

With the click of the lock sliding back, the door flew open again, nearly hitting Harry just as he jumped out of the way. Wide-eyed with fright, Hagrid ushered them all into the hut and growled, “Keep your voice down and get inside, all of you!”

All five friends bustled into Hagrid's hut. Harry could see Hermione's hair was undergoing the same effects as Hagrid's. Once Neville and Susan crossed the threshold, Hagrid closed the door and asked in a growl, “What do you mean, 'you know what Fluffy is guarding?'” asked Hagrid sternly.

“The Philosopher's Stone,” said Harry.

Hagrid went pale—well, as pale as he could go with his skin as flushed as it was in the heat.

“That's what's in the third-floor corridor, right?” asked Harry.

“I'm not allowed to say, and you're not allowed to be asking,” Hagrid huffed, stoking the blazing fireplace, taking great care to avoid a giant black rock at the center of the embers. “It's not any of your business.”

“Hagrid, I already know it's in the castle,” said Harry. “Firenze told me as much.”

“That ruddy stargazing nag,” Hagrid muttered. He let out a sigh, set the poker back on its rack in a huff, and took a draught of whiskey from a bottle on the table. He splashed some on the rock in the fireplace and around the flames. The fire flared up and the liquor sizzled as it hit the rock. Once he set the bottle back down, he admitted, “Okay, fine. We have the Stone in the castle.”

As the kids reacted in wonder to what Hagrid told them, he returned to Harry and warned, “Whatever Firenze told you, Harry, you stay away from it. It's safe where it is.”

“If it's so safe, then who tried to steal it from Professor McGonagall on Harry's birthday?” asked Hermione. “That can't have been the first time someone tried to steal it.”

“That newspaper said something about someone trying to attack her and take it,” Harry added. “I saw McGonagall with a package after she went to a vault Hogwarts had there. Number 713.”

“All right, all right,” Hagrid said, stopping the children from making any more conjectures. “I'll tell you, but you promise me two things. One: you keep this to yourselves. Two: you stay away from the third-floor corridor. Have I got your word?”

The five children nodded. Hagrid sat down and began, “Nicolas Flamel and his wife have been living in Devon for the last forty years, under assumed names.”

“Nick Petrie?”

“Aye, and Nell Petrie,” Hagrid said, before continuing with his story. “Ever since they moved to Devon, they run a bookshop in Okehampton and he also serves as a notary and tutor for the townfolk, if need be, when he's not working on his alchemy experiments.

“Early July last year, someone tried to break into Mister Flamel's home. He was about to finish a new Stone when someone broke into their home and attacked them so they could take it. Mr Flamel fended them off, but only just. What's worse was, after that attack, he couldn't start the new batch of Elixir of Life he wanted to make for himself and Perenelle. He got scared that that bloke would be again soon enough, either for the Stone or the Elixir.

“So, Flamel contacted Dumbledore and asked him to keep the Stone safe. Dumbledore did as he was asked and he locked it up in one of the school's vaults at Gringotts. It stayed there until Dumbledore got word that somebody was about to break into that as well.”

“So, he sent Professor McGonagall to get it?” Harry surmised.

“He sent the both of us to get it,” Hagrid admitted. “Only I didn't know until later that was why he let me go to London. The plan was she'd take the Stone out of the vault and then slip it to another party. That turned out to be me.

“She would go to Devon with her attacker thinking she still had the Stone and was gonna give it back to the Flamels, only she wouldn't.”

“But, they attacked her and left her to die,” said Harry.

“Aye, but thankfully, she made it through all that.”

“Does she know who attacked her?”

“No, and don't go asking her either. She's said as much to the Ministry, and she ain't gonna say any more than that. She's all right, the Stone is here, and safer than it could be anywhere else.”

“But, how do you know that it is safe?”

“Easy. Dumbledore put measures in place to make sure anyone couldn't get to them.”

“You mean like Fluffy?”

“Yeah, like Fluffy.”

“What else is there?”

“I'm not allowed to say, and you're not allowed to be asking,” Hagrid said again, getting up and stoking the coals again. “It ain't worth it to know, especially if you aren't going after it, like you promised you wouldn't.”

“Hagrid, please tell us,” Hermione pleaded with him. “We're not trying to go after it ourselves. We just want to know who Dumbledore trusts enough to protect it. Well, everyone apart from you.”

Hagrid's beard bristled with pride. The kids could see he was smiling at Hermione's flattery. The gamekeeper relented, replying somewhat boyishly, “Oh, all right. Granted, I don't know what the other teachers put in place—”

“The other teachers?” asked Harry.

“Yeah,” Hagrid explained. “Dumbeldore knew Fluffy wouldn't be enough to stop anybody from getting the Stone, so he put up his own challenge as well to keep people from getting it. Then, he asked the other professors to set up something of their own. Let's see, he asked McGonagall, Quirrell, Flitwick, Sprout, and...I'm forgetting somebody.” He asked himself, “Who else did he ask?”

“Snape?” asked Harry.

“Yeah, he asked Snape too,” said Hagrid.

All the kids looked at each other with worry. Sensing this, Hagrid told them, “Now, don't start up with that again. Dumbledore trusts Snape, and the Headmaster wouldn't let him take part in guarding the Stone if he didn't trust him.”

“Do _you_ trust him?” Harry asked him.

“That's beside the point,” said Hagrid. “The point is _Dumbledore_ trusts Snape. End of discussion.”

Hagrid got up and opened the door, letting in a wave of colder air that quickly disappeared in the heat of the hut.

“It's a nice day outside,” he said. “Go out and enjoy it. Don't bother worrying about the Stone and keep away from Fluffy. Now, get.”

The kids got up and went out of the hut. Before they all left, Harry looked at the rock in the fireplace. It was oblong and as black as onyx. Harry looked over at Ron, who was staring at the rock in disbelief.

“Hagrid, what is that rock?” he asked Hagrid.

“That's none of your business,” Hagrid said sternly. “Now, get going. Go do the things you kids normally do.”

With that, Hagrid shoved the boys out of his hut and slammed the door.

They walked back to the castle, enchanted by the story told to them.

“Can you believe it?” Neville asked. “The Philosopher's Stone! I'd love to see it up close. How many people could say they've ever seen it?”

“That would be neat,” Susan agreed. “I'd want to hear Flamel talk about life and all the adventures he's had.”

“Just meeting him would be amazing,” said Hermione. “Personally, I'd love to see him make the Elixir of Life. Watching him brew any potion would be a treat.”

As Hermione, Neville and Susan imagined meeting Monsieur Flamel, Harry took Ron aside and asked him, “What did Hagrid have in his hut?”

“What?” Ron replied, apparently coming out of a daze.

“That rock in Hagrid's fireplace” said Harry. “It scared you when you saw it. What was it?”

“I remembered seeing something like it somewhere before,” said Ron.

“From where?”

“I can't remember,” Ron told him. “It'll come to me. If I can't remember it now, it must not be important.”

They all walked back to the castle. Neville, Susan, and Hermione kept speaking about the possibilities of meeting the Flamels and having the Philosopher's Stone and what they all would do with it. Ron joined them, going into his plan to help his family get permanently wealthy. Harry stayed behind them, still walking to the castle with his friends but straying to look back at Hagrid's hut. The smoke curled into the sky, away from the gamekeeper's home.

*****HPG*****

It was two weeks before Ron remembered why he was so frightened of the rock in Hagrid's hut.

It was a Saturday morning. The day was going to start off in a very exciting way. Everyone was eager to see the next Quidditch match, Ravenclaw v Hufflepuff. True, the match didn't stir up the sort of fervour that the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry did, but it still got everyone's attention just as much as any school match. It was the first of the school year for Ravenclaw, and after their loss to Gryffindor, Hufflepuff were eager to get a win for the season.

The biggest discussion about the match concerned the Seekers, Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang. It was to be the first time they played against each other in a proper match and everyone was eager to see which of the two would come out the victor. Even Professors Sprout and Flitwick wagered about who would win, with both teachers agreeing to wear the other House's colours for the remainder of the school year if their team lost.

The match went as well as could be expected. Players butted heads as they normally would. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, though, had none of the hostility that was present in the matches between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The Chasers on both sides were evenly matched, scoring some impressive goals for both sides. The Keepers had no problem blocking goals when they saw what was coming. The Beaters on both sides had good aim, though Hufflepuff's hit their Chasers one or two times in the match. Diggory impressed everyone with his speed and his form when flying. Chang was just as good as Diggory. She was a bit faster than the Hufflepuff and more nimble when it came to making a sudden turn.

In the end, Chang got the Snitch and ended the game with a victory for her House. Every Hufflepuff groaned as Lee announced that Ravenclaw was victorious. The blue and bronze clad students cheered, chanting “EAGLES!” again and again as the team swarmed over Cho Chang. They all watched as Professor Flitwick charmed Professor Sprout's clothes from their dulled golden yellow and black clothes into a sky blue and bronze ensemble. The Herbology teacher looked put off about the whole affair, but accepting of it just the same.

Harry had kept an eye out to see if Hagrid would attend. The gamekeeper was nowhere to be seen. The smoke still rose from his hut.

All five friends had sat down in the Great Hall for lunch after the match. Ham, turkey, and roast beef sandwiches had been prepared for everyone. All the Ravenclaws, with the exception of Hermione and a few others, had retired to their Tower to celebrate.

“That was a decent match,” Ron said as he slathered mustard on his ham sandwich. “Neither Diggory or Chang would ever stand a chance against Charlie, though.”

“That's your brother, right?” Neville asked, sightly glum over his House's loss.

“One of them,” Ron replied. “I've got five.”

“Five?” Susan cried. “I knew about Percy, Fred and George, but another two? Your mother must have had her hands full?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Six boys, and a girl. Ginny will be here next year. But, Bill and Charlie are the eldest.”

“What do your brothers do?” Hermione asked.

Ron got rather boastful as he spoke of his brothers. “Bill works for Gringotts,” he said. “He works as a Cursebreaker for them. Going into tombs, breaking all the ancient curses so they can get the treasure.”

“So, he's like Indiana Jones, but a wizard?” Harry asked.

“Who's Indiana Jones?” Ron replied.

Ignoring the fact that Ron knew nothing of one of the greatest adventurers of Muggle culture, and also kicking himself over the fact that he didn't introduce Ron to those movies when he had his friend over for Christmas, Harry pressed his friend again.

“So, what does Charlie do, then?” asked Harry. “Play Quidditch professionally?”

“That's what everybody thought he would do,” said Ron. “He was good enough to do it, too. Puddlemere United and Dinas Caerffili both wanted him to be their new Seeker so badly; pretty much fought for him in all their matches before he left. Montrose and Wimbourne County sent him offers shortly after. Even Chudliegh Thursday asked him to play for them. I don't think I'd ever stop talking about them bringing him on if he had said yes.”

Ron wolfed down his sandwich and went about making himself another as he continued with a full mouth.

“No, Charlie wasn't interested in playing professionally, though.” He had swallowed the last of that first sandwich. “He wanted to do something more than that. So, he studied hard on his N.E.W.T.s and earned all his best marks. Once he left Hogwarts, he went off to Romania. Ever since then, he's been working in the hatcheries on the—”

Ron trailed off as a look of horror flooded every part of him. He dropped the sandwich he had just prepared for himself.

“The rock in the fire!” Ron cried, pushing himself away from the table. “The bloody rock in the fire! Oh, Merlin's tits!”

“Language!” Susan scolded.

Ron looked around nervously. He sprang to his feet. To his friends, he said, “We need to go to the library.”

Before they could respond, Ron dashed off out of the Great Hall, nearly knocking over Percy in his exit.

“Ron hates going to the library,” Hermione mused.

“Yes, he does,” Harry replied.

“This could be serious.”

“I agree.” Harry ran after his friend, Hermione in close pursuit. Susan and Neville followed close behind them. Percy was about to shout after them to stop running in the halls, but they were out of earshot before he could even utter a syllable.

When they got to the library, they saw an unusual sight, one they more expected from Hermione than Ron. He ran between stacks, flipping through all the books he picked up and putting them back on the shelves. Unlike Hermione, he just closed the books and tossed them back on the shelves before moving on to the next book.

Harry strode up to his friend. Ron pulled one more book from a shelf to his right.

“Ron, what were you on about in the Great Hall?” Harry asked his friend.

When he looked at one of the pages, Ron brought the book to a table with a more determined look. “I remembered what I saw in Hagrid's hut.”

“You mean the rock he had in the fire.”

Ron flipped through the pages until he stopped on a page. He looked up from the book, pointing at a drawing that took up the entire page. It was a picture of a glowing hot nest, within which rested an oblong black rock, just like the one Hagrid had in his hut.

“It's not a rock,” he said, a very worried tone about his statement. “It's an egg. That one, or at least just like that one.”

The four friends looked in confusion at the drawing, reading the note written just below it: “Norwegian Ridgeback egg, 16 weeks.”

Harry asked uneasily, “What's a Norwegian Ridgeback?”

Ron closed the book, showing the book's title, in gold leaf, glowing as if it were white hot: _**From Egg to Inferno: The Lives of Dragons** _.

“A dragon?” Hermione nearly cried. “Hagrid has a dragon in his hut?”

“A dragon egg,” Harry corrected her.

“That's just as bad,” Ron said. “Even having an egg can land you in prison. Dragon breeding has been illegal for over three hundred years.”

“And eventually, eggs hatch,” added Hermione.

“That's right, and baby dragons are...unruly.”

“When you say unruly...” Susan began to ask.

“It'll belch fire everywhere,” Ron clarified.

“But, Hagrid lives in a wooden hut!” cried Neville.

“This is bad no matter how you look at it,” Hermione explained. “He has a Class A Non-Tradeable object in his hut. Once it hatches, you can add Illegal Breeding of a Class-Five Magical Creature.”

They stared at her in sheer amazement after she recited what he'd be facing from the Magical Justice System.

“I've always been fascinated by rules and laws,” she said, trying to explain her impressive knowledge away. “I read about them sometimes.”

“We need to get him to get rid of the thing,” Harry said.

“Oh, of course we do,” Ron said in most sarcastic tone of voice. “And then, he can hate us forever.”

“Ron!” Hermione cried.

“I'm not saying let's not help him,” Ron said. “I'm saying we might lose him as a friend if we tell him to get rid of that egg.”

“It's better than him going to prison...or wherever wizards go when they break the law,” Harry replied, uncertain of how justice was meted out in the Magical Community.

“No, we have a prison for witches and wizards,” Susan told him. “It's a horrible place and I agree with Harry. Hagrid shouldn't have to go there, no matter what he's doing with this egg.”

“If he gets caught, how many years would he have to be there?” asked Neville.

“For these offenses, he'll get ten years, _at minimum_ ,” Hermione answered.

“He can't go there,” cried Neville. “Not for that long, not at all. We have to help him.”

Harry looked on the picture of the Norwegian Ridgeback egg, expecting it to hatch right then and there. Harry slammed the book shut and shoved the book back onto the shelf.

“We will,” Harry said finally. “We'll help Hagrid keep the dragon a secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Happy New Year, everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter. I'll try to wrap this up within the year and move on to the next book.


	17. The Ridgeback Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Seventeen  
**The Ridgeback Affair**

 

The gamekeeper's hut appeared empty. All around him, the hut showed no sign of activity, save for the smoke coming from the fire inside. The garden lay cold and barren, waiting for the warmer days of spring so it could grow anew. An ax jutted from a tree stump, its blade buried in the very center of the wood. A cord of freshly-chopped firewood rested beside the door. Despite the smoke billowing from the chimney, he suspected the hut was empty. Except for what the gamekeeper kept inside.

He knew what Hagrid would say. The gamekeeper would stick to what he wanted to do, paying no heed to the danger in which he put himself and others. But, Harry had to try and convince him, for Hagrid's own good and the good of the school.

Harry strode up to the door and slammed his fist on the wood sharply. “Hagrid! We need to talk.”

No answer came. He slammed his fist three times again. “Hagrid!” He cried again, to no avail.

He slammed his fist even harder. “Hagrid! Open up! We need to talk!”

“Talk about what?” the gruff voice of the gamekeeper answered from behind him. Harry spun around to see Hagrid walking back from the forest, his crossbow slung across his back. Fang was close by. Seeing Harry, the boarhound dashed up and jumped on his hind legs to show his affection. Harry did his best to brace himself, but the boarhound won, knocking him to the ground and smothering the boy with dog kisses.

“Fang, geroff!” Hagrid growled, taking his dog by the scruff and pulling him off Harry. He kept the dog at bay while he helped his little friend back to his feet.

“What's got you banging at my door, Harry?” Hagrid asked kindly.

Harry brushed himself off and replied, “I need to talk to you.”

“I heard as much coming back here. Talk about what?”

“Something really important,” said Harry. He tried to be more calm than he had when he first arrived, but he found it difficult to keep from shouting how bloody stupid Hagrid was to bring that thing to the school. Remarkably, though, he maintained his composure.

“If this is about the Stone, forget it,” the gamekeeper grumbled. “I'm done talking about that.”

“Then, let's talk about the egg,” Harry cried.

Hagrid looked at him in anger and panic. He shoved his door open and pointed sharply inside, giving him a reproachful look as he did it. Fang loped inside and Harry followed. The heat was just as unbearable as it had been the day they spoke about the Philosopher's Stone and its arrival to the school. Hagrid slammed the door shut and locked it behind him.

“What is it with you and shouting about my personal business for everyone to hear?” said Hagrid, rounding on Harry.

“Hagrid, I know you have a dragon egg there in your fireplace,” Harry said, explaining himself to Hagrid and pointing to the object in question.

“How did you find out?” Hagrid asked without dodging the accusation.

“Ron recognised it. Maybe not as soon as he ought have, but he recognised it.”

Hagrid hung his crossbow on the wall and the quiver beside it. He sat down at the table and poured himself a drink. He downed it in one go.

“Where did you get it, anyway?” Harry asked.

“I won it,” Hagrid replied. “Won it from a bloke at the pub over a hand of cards. Seemed eager to be rid of it. It's his loss. These things are rare. Rarer, even, since it's a Norwegian Ridgeback.”

Harry could think of nothing to say in response. His mouth hung open, aghast at the gamekeeper's foolishness. Hagrid seemed to notice what Harry was feeling.

“I know what I'm doing, Harry,” Hagrid told him. “You don't need to worry.”

“You have a dragon egg that's close to hatching and you're telling me _not_ to worry?”

“It'll be more than a few weeks before it hatches, 'bout five or six by my count. When it does, I'll be ready. I know how to handle it.”

“And what happens when you can't?”

“I can handle it,” he told Harry firmly. He stoked the coals in the fire, taking great care not to hit or scratch the egg in the center. To the egg, he said in a very babying voice, “Can't I, Norbert? Who can handle it?”

“Norbert?” Harry cried. “You already gave it a name?”

“Yeah, he's got to have a name,” Hagrid replied, as if stating the obvious. “Otherwise, how will he answer when I call him?”

He was getting nowhere with Hagrid and that needed to change.

“Hagrid, someone else might recognise what you've got,” Harry warned. “When they do, they won't go to Dumbledore; they'll tell the Ministry. I don't think you can get out of that.”

“Dumbledore will help me out,” said Hagrid, adding with a brooding regret, “He's helped me when I was much worse off.”

“Worse than having that egg?”

“Harry, I've already told you. I'll be fine. If summat comes up, you won't need to worry about me. Now, get back to the castle.”

Hagrid opened the door for Harry, gesturing to the outside. Harry got up and walked to the threshold. Before he left, he turned to Hagrid and told the gamekeeper, “Hagrid, I spoke with Hermione and Ron, Susan, and Neville.”

“You told all of them?” Hagrid cried.

“Ron told all of us,” said Harry. “We don't agree with you keeping the dragon, but we'll help keep it a secret, if you'll let us.”

Hagrid looked on Harry with trepidation. He closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe what he heard or what he was about to say.

“It ain't gonna be easy, Harry,” Hagrid warned. “Dragons can be ornery little buggers.”

“We all know that, but when it hatches, people will notice when you have burns and scratches and whatnot from caring for it.”

“They'll notice 'em on you more. On me, I can explain it away. 'I'm a gamekeeper, it's part of the job.' But on you kids, it's naught but alarms and trouble.”

“You can't go through this alone, though. Plus, when will we ever see a dragon hatch again?”

The gamekeeper smirked at Harry and nudged the boy back toward the castle.

“Tell the others I'll teach them how to look after a dragon egg when they're ready to learn,” Hagrid said as he went back to his hut. Fang followed his master into the hut and the door slammed shut.

*****HPG*****

“What did Hagrid say?” Hermione asked as he came back to the castle. Harry made a beeline to the Great Hall. Hermione dashed behind him.

“He says we shouldn't worry about Norbert,” Harry told her.

“Who is Norbert?” she asked in confusion. Harry gave her a knowing glance, and she blanched. “He has a name picked out already?” she asked in a worried whisper.

“You sound surprised,” he said.

“Aren't you?”

“Not really. He told me he always wanted a dragon.”

“Harry, we can't let him keep it. You need to convince him to get the egg away from the school.”

“There's no convincing him. He wants to keep it.”

“He'll get caught. And we will too.”

“He won't get rid of it, and we can't make him. We shouldn't make him. The best thing we can do is help him keep it secret.”

“We don't know the first thing about taking care of a dragon.”

“He'll teach us.”

“Does he really know how to care for one?”

“I would...assume as much,” he answered in a very unsure voice.

“Harry, you're my brother, and I love you dearly,” she told him, looking him square in the eye with an unwavering glare, “but, if it turns out this isn't the right thing to do, I'm telling everyone it was all your fault.”

“Agreed,” he replied. “If things go wrong, it's all your fault.”

“No, it's your fault,” Hermione snapped playfully.

“No, it's yours.” They tussled playfully as they walked up to a table and sat down for lunch.

“I'm not sure how the others will take this news,” he told her.

“They might know what to expect,” said Hermione.

*****HPG*****

Ron, Susan and Neville were all uneasy about hearing that Hagrid would not move the egg out of the school, but accepted that they would need to help the gamekeeper with the care and concealment of the dragon, before and after it hatched. Susan suggested trying to convince Hagrid one more time to move the egg, though Ron shot down that idea, saying that if he didn't listen to Harry, none of them had a better chance.

Hermione worked out a schedule for them all to help Hagrid with caring for the egg. Neville took the first shift, followed by Harry, Susan, Ron and Hermione. Hagrid taught them all how to care for the egg, telling them to be careful of the egg when stoking the fire and adding fuel to the fire that kept it warm. Over the next five weeks, they all focused on the task of helping Hagrid look after the egg, learning what they could from whatever Hagrid knew about them, which wasn't much, and whatever they could from books in the Library, the majority of which had been written in medieval times and regarded all of them as highly dangerous and needing to be vanquished at all cost. Hermione found one book, titled _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_ , that was slightly kinder to the creatures, even if the book had a chapter concentrated on harvesting the parts of dragons used for potions, wands, and clothing.

All throughout that time, Hagrid was happier than the kids had ever seen him.

One day, after Slytherin and Ravenclaw played (with Ravenclaw emerging as the victor), the kids received a note from Hedwig written in Hagrid's ever-untidy scrawl. All that was written on the parchment were four words:  
  
  
_It's time. Come quick._  
  
  
As soon as they all saw the note, they knew he would expect them all to be there.

“We have too much to do,” Hermione told them all. “We have lessons, we have to study for our exams, and we could get into so much trouble if we went.”

“A dragon is hatching, Hermione,” Harry replied. “How often will we get to see something like that?”

“Could we maybe keep it down?” Ron whispered. “Slytherins have ears.”

They looked as Ron nodded toward Malfoy, who was closer to their group than any of them would have liked. Malfoy played at feigning indifference to their mutterings, but Harry had a bad feeling in his gut that the cogs in Malfoy's head turning.

“I want to go,” said Susan. “If we've gone through this much trouble to help him, I want to see what we risked it all for.”

“Seriously, someone will notice us spending so much time around Hagrid's hut,” Hermione warned. “Especially if we miss classes.”

“Hermione, you're coming with us,” Harry told her. “You know you want to.”

“I want to, yes. But, I'd like to go without any consequences coming up against us.”

“It's an illegal dragon, Hermione,” said Harry. “Consequences are bound to come up in some way.”

Harry worried, though, that those consequences had a pale face and blond hair to match.

*****HPG*****

When the five friends had finished with their supper, they slipped out of the Great Hall as quickly as they could and made their way to the gamekeeper's hut. Hagrid welcomed them inside, closing the door the moment the last of them crossed the threshold.

“Should be happening any minute now,” he told them giddily. “Don't know what I'd've done if he'd popped out before you got here.”

“You would've been excited and

On the table, sat the egg. It rocked back and forth as the dragonling inside jostled about, trying to break free of the egg's confines. The children and Hagrid gathered around the table to see what the egg would do. For the most part, all the egg did was teeter on the table as the dragonling bustled about within the eggshell.

“How much longer will it be?” Harry asked.

“Shouldn't be long now,” said Hagrid.

The egg showed its first crack after five minutes. After that, the cracks grew bigger, crazing all along the surface as the dragonling fought against its confines. Within minutes, the egg exploded, sending shards of black eggshells scattering about the room, followed by a shower of sparks. Out of the little explosion crawled a little reptile with a skinny jet body, spiny wings, and bulging orange eyes. The little thing looked out the room, sneezed a spray of sparks, crawled up to Hagrid and snapped its little fangs at him as the gamekeeper tried to pet it.

“Isn't he beautiful?” Hagrid gushed. That was up for debate, as Harry thought the dragonling looked more like a crumpled black bumbershoot more than anything. “And bless him, he knows his mummy. Don't you, Norbert?”

Norbert sneezed and sent up a burst of flame that singed Hagrid's beard. He quickly put it out, chuckling as he did so.

“Need to teach you to control that, little Norby,” he said.

“Hagrid, how big does a Norwegian Ridgeback get?” asked Susan.

“Well, the book says—” Hagrid began, until he trailed off and stared off at the window. Hagrid leapt up and ran to look out.

“Someone was outside, looking in on us,” he told them. Harry ran to the door and threw it open. He saw a small figure dashing up to the castle. Even as far as away as they were, Harry could see well enough to know the person had pale blond hair.

If Malfoy didn't know about the dragon, he certainly did now.

*****HPG*****

Over the week, Malfoy smirked at them whenever they made eye contact with him. Most of their free time was spent trying to reason with Hagrid that he needed to get Norbert out of the school. That day, they all had gathered in the hut. Hagrid had set up a pen of sorts for Norbert. Norbert was not pleased, even when Hagrid gave him plush toys to play with, which Norbert tore to shreds and burned to cinders in an instant.

“He's getting too large to be kept a secret, Hagrid,” Hermione said as Harry came in with Susan and Ron. Indeed, Norbert was now the size of a Jack Russell terrier, and snapping his teeth at anyone who came within a hair's breadth of him.

“Malfoy knows,” Harry told him for what felt like the millionth time. “He could go and tell Snape. If he does, I think we all know what that means for us.”

“Malfoy ain't gonna tell Snape nothin',” Hagrid muttered to them. “Even if that blond git tries summat, Dumbledore ain't gonna let nothin' happen to me.”

“How can you be so sure?” Harry asked.

“'Cause the centaurs won't deal with no one but me. They'll talk to the Headmaster when they need to, but nobody in the school is allowed in the woods, nobody but the gamekeeper.”

“A gamekeeper can be replaced, though, Hagrid,” Hermione replied.

“Aye, but the centaurs won't accept them as the school's emissary, and the choice is always up to the clan and the Headmaster. That's how I know I'll be all right.”

None of the children felt completely reassured by that, but it was something of a good reason to think Hagrid would come out of this all right for the most part.

“Look, if you're all so worried about what Draco Malfoy knows, confront him. Get him talking about what he knows, or what he thinks he knows.”

“Even if we find out what Malfoy plans to do, we need to plan for a way to get Norbert out of here,” Hermione told the gamekeeper.

“I'm not kicking Norbert out of my home,” Hagrid told them. “It's _his_ home, too.”

“If you don't get him out of the school, _you_ won't have a home,” Hermione shouted.

“Everyone, stop!” Neville cried. “Hagrid, what if we found a safe place to send Norbert, where he could grow up without any chance of being harmed?”

It sprang in Harry's mind where they ought to send the dragonling. “Charlie!” he cried to Ron.

“You're losing it, mate,” Ron replied. “My name's Ron.”

“No, you nitwit!” Harry cried, slapping his arm. “Your brother!”

“Hey, yeah! The dragon preserve! Hagrid, the dragon preserve would be perfect for Norbert. He'd make all sorts of friends, maybe even find a mate when he's old enough.”

“I always liked Charlie, he was always good with animals,” Hagrid wondered aloud, almost taken with the idea, until he whined, “But, what if Norbert don't like Romania? What if all the other dragons are mean to him?”

“You would rather he be put down or something like that?” Susan asked.

“Susan!” Hermione cried.

“It's a very likely possibility,” Susan shouted in her defense.

“Hagrid,” said Harry, after quieting everyone down, “Norbert has to go to Romania. This is the best solution.”

Hagrid looked ready to kick every single of them out of his hut. He looked like he would just pack up everything and leave Hogwarts with his dragon right then and there. The gamekeeper took a drink of his whiskey and muttered, “All right, fine. If things are as bad as you think with Malfoy, and Charlie says yes, Norbert can go.”

The five children breathed a sigh of relief. Then the gamekeeper kicked them out of his home.

*****HPG*****

Ron wrote to his brother first thing the next morning, asking him if the Preserve could take in a baby dragon that had shown up on the grounds. Harry would have appreciated more discretion on Ron's part, but he had to agree with what Ron told him: “We may have to get rid of that bleeding reptile at a moment's notice. Now's not the time to be discreet.”

They gave the note to Hedwig, who took flight for the long journey to Romania. There was no telling how soon she would be back.

Three days had passed since Hedwig flew to see Charlie, without any reply. There was still so much to do with their classes. Snape harped at the lot of them that they'd be lucky even to scrape by with a passing grade—as he dumped coursework on top of coursework on them. Other teachers were less severe than him, but still strict.

The only other thing that Harry cared about at all was knowing what Malfoy was going to do about the situation. At the very least, Malfoy knew that Hagrid had Norbert. That may well have been the full extent of his knowledge. Nevertheless, Harry needed to know what else Malfoy knew, if anything.

After their newest Potions session, Harry tailed Malfoy from the classroom, leaving his friends behind, most confused and on edge. So focused was he on the task, he nearly collided with Professor Flitwick, as the Charms instructor chatted with Professor Quirrell about something involving a lost key Quirrell needed to find. Neither teacher paid Harry any mind as the boy dashed off to follow the pale blond Slytherin he was after.

Harry followed Malfoy to the Great Hall. Malfoy had sat at the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle, to Harry's surprise, were not by his side. The blond boy had sat down and began doodling on some parchment he had taken from his school bag.

Harry swallowed what he thought what his pride, or possibly his resentment, and walked up to Malfoy, while the Slytherin boy drew away at his leisure.

“Malfoy,” said Harry. The blond boy looked up with a half-knowing look on his face.

“Ah, Potter,” he drawled, “just the man I wanted to see. Tell me what you think.” He held the parchment up for Harry to see. “I was thinking the Slytherins could have a new clubhouse. The dungeons can be so dark and gloomy, especially around the summertime.”

Indeed, the drawing was for the interior of a clubhouse that didn't exist yet. French doors opened out to a splendid view of the castle. The walls were festooned with hangings Harry imagined to be emerald green and silver in colour. Lounging on a chaise was a crudely drawn figure Harry could only imagine as being the pale git sitting before him.

“The only trouble is that the ideal spot for it is right where that dumb oaf Hagrid's hut is right now,” said Malfoy, almost regrettably. The “regret” passed and Malfoy grinned, saying, “Soon, though, he'll be gone, and we can raze that ramshackle hut to the ground.”

Crabbe and Goyle had come up to Malfoy's side, scowling at him and cracking their knuckles with all the menace they could muster. There was no way either of them would risk an open fight while teachers sat at the High Table, and indeed the Headmaster himself sat there, scribbling on the _Prophet_ 's crossword.

“It's high time that that oaf left this place, and I'll be there to give him a swift kick in the arse when he does,” Malfoy sneered.

“Hagrid won't be going anywhere,” Harry shot back.

“You really think you can keep me from getting him sacked?” Malfoy sneered, letting a cruel smile creep onto his lips.

“All right, Potter,” Malfoy drawled. “I'll let off and leave him be...if you can best me in a duel.”

Ron and Hermione had come up behind Harry just soon enough to hear Malfoy's proposal.

“Wizard's duel, wands only, no contact, best of five points,” said Malfoy. “What's the matter, Potter? Never heard of a wizard's duel?”

“Of course he has,” said Ron, stepping up beside him. “I'm his second. Who's yours?”

Malfoy sized up his two companions and answered, “Crabbe. We meet at half past eleven tomorrow in the trophy room. That's always unlocked. If you don't show, or if you're late even by one second, you automatically forfeit and Hagrid is done for, along with his pet.”

“I'll be there,” Harry growled.

Malfoy strutted away, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione stunned at the developments that had taken place.

“A duel?” Hermione said in shock. “You let yourself be talked into a duel? People die in duels?”

“It's not a proper duel,” Ron replied.

“Then, why are you his second?”

“To take over in case he dies,” Ron answered. When the looks of horror did not leave their faces, Ron assured them, “Like I said, it's not a proper duel. Harry and Malfoy aren't really wizards, they don't know enough to do any real damage to each other. Most they'd be able to do is send sparks at each other.”

“And what if Malfoy knows than we think he does?” Hermione asked.

“Well—”

“And what if we lose even more points because of this stupid fight?”

“We? Who said you're coming along?” Harry asked.

“If you think I'm letting you two idiots get into a brawl without me, you've got another thing coming,”

*****HPG*****

The next morning, they had sat down for breakfast. Moods were turning towards more of a glum nature with exams coming up. Even the teachers seemed more exasperated than before, though Professor Quirrell was more invested in a chess-by-owl match at the moment than he was with the future exam. He kept pressing Professor McGonagall for the best strategies for the coming moves.

To everyone's surprise, Hedwig returned to the school, swooping in and landing in front of Harry, She was winded from the long flight to and from Romania but more than satisfied with her performance. Harry rewarded her with the crust from his toast and a morsel of sausage. Once she ate it all, she flew away to the Owlery without any delay.

Ron opened the letter and read:  
  
_Dear Ron,_

_The Dragon Preserve is always willing to take in any dragon, illegal or otherwise, and give it a good home here. A baby Norwegian Ridgeback would most definitely be welcome here. I'll come personally with some friends who work on the preserve with me to collect it._

_The only trouble is, even though we work there, none of us can be seen transporting an illegal dragon. We would need to move him while it's still dark, when no one would see us. Can you get him to the top of the Astronomy Tower by midnight tomorrow?_

_Send me a reply as soon as you can._  
  
_Love,_  
_Charlie_  
  
Once he finished reading, Ron quickly wrote that they would be there and signal him when the time came. He dashed off to the Owlery to send it with one of the school owls, leaving his friends to finish their breakfast and go to break the news to Hagrid.

*****HPG*****

“Good of Charlie to help me out like this,” Hagrid said, reading the letter. “Wish it didn't have to happen so soon.”

There was a knock on the door. Susan answered it, and let Ron inside.

“Well, that's settled,” said Ron. “Charlie will get word soon. He'll tell us what to do next."

“But, what about Malfoy?” asked Neville. “How are we going to get Norbert out of Hogwarts without him telling Snape, or anyone else?”

“And without breaking your word to duel him?” added Susan.

Harry pondered that as he sat himself beside Norbert's playpen. He had let his hand dangle over the side before he remembered where he was. He pulled it away before Norbert snapped at him, yelping as he got his hand safely away.

“Harry, don't get Norbert riled up,” said Hagrid, chastising him. “He's bound to go after anyone if he's like that.”

Something sprang into Harry's mind as he imagined Norbert going after Malfoy. He thought about it more and more, and couldn't shake it from his mind, even thought he knew he ought to. He imagined Norbert chasing after Malfoy, and Malfoy running for help—

“What if he does tell someone?” Harry asked in earnest.

“Harry, we've established what would happen if Malfoy told someone,” Hermione told him, slightly exasperated.

“But, what if he told somebody the way we wanted him to?” Harry asked. Everyone looked at him with the same queer expression.

And with that, Harry told them all about his plan.

  *****HPG*****

Everyone was on board with Harry's plan, much to his surprise. Hagrid thought it was especially kind since it meant Norbert would get to see at least some of the castle. All that was left was to wait for the duel at midnight.

He had a full day ahead of him, with their final exams coming up in only a matter of weeks. There was no telling how difficult they would be. He was absolutely certain that Snape's would be the worst of them all, especially once the duel was over and done.

Harry came into his dormitory to get his school things. What he didn't expect was to find a package resting on the trunk at the foot of his four-poster. It was wrapped in purple paper, like when he saw one just like it on Christmas. Pinned to the package was a note written in the same immaculate script he had seen on the other package.

He took the note and read it:  
  
_Use it well._  
  
He chucked the note in the bin and tore open the paper to find the silvery, almost ephemeral cloth of the Invisibility Cloak that he had got on Christmas. He held it with an uneasy grip, half wanting to drape it over himself again, half wanting to fling it across the room.

 _You need it_ , a little voice in his head told him. _You have to take it with you. Besides, it's yours, isn't it? It was your father's. You can't cast it away._

With a sigh of resentment, Harry folded the Cloak and tucked it and tucked it away in his trunk.

*****HPG*****

Charlie's response came around dusk, telling which direction they be coming from and the signal they needed to use. Ron kept it close by as he and Harry waited until the other boys dozed off. When they knew for certain that the other three boys were in fact asleep, Harry got out his Invisibility Cloak out of the trunk and pocketed it. They crept downstairs to meet Susan, who was waiting for them in the Common Room. Before they left, Harry pulled out his newly-reacquired Cloak.

“How did you get that back?” Susan asked.

“That doesn't matter,” Harry told her. “What matters is that we get into our places. Let's go.”

They left the Common Room with the Cloak draped over themselves. They moved along slowly not to attract attention, but quickly to make it to the trophy room. Once they got to the juncture where they would have to go their separate ways, Harry left the Cloak with them and left to confront Malfoy.

Harry made his way carefully to the trophy room. Hermione would be coming along soon enough. For now, he went inside the trophy room. Malfoy and Crabbe stood square in the middle of the room, ready to begin the duel. The light of lanterns illuminated half their features

“I almost thought you wouldn't show,” drawled the blond boy.

“You expected a Gryffindor to back down from a fight?” asked Harry.

“I expected you to be dumb enough not to,” Malfoy answered. “Where's Weasley?”

The door opened and Hermione entered, drawing her wand once the door closed.

“Ron took ill,” Harry replied. “Hermione is his replacement.”

“She's not the second we agreed on,” Malfoy contested.

“She's a second, which is necessary for any duel,” Harry retorted. “Besides, she knows the rules, and a fair bit of Duelling Magic herself. Don't you, Hermione?”

Hermione didn't answer, only holding her wand aloft and swinging it down to her side, shooting out a spray of green, blue, and orange sparks. She stepped aside, standing and squinting at the two Slytherins. That display had only been for show. She had no real knowledge of Duelling Magic, nor did she have any inclination to fight. Still, she was playing her part perfectly.

“You wanted to fight me, not him or her, Malfoy,” Harry told him. “Besides, what do you care who I have as my second?”

“Fine,” Malfoy sneered. “You're about to see how a real wizard does real magic, Potter.”

“Show them in, then,” Harry riposted. “I'd love to see what they can do.”

Harry drew out his wand and stood in a stance resembling a fencer wielding his epée.

“You expect to do any damage like that?” Malfoy guffawed.

“Are you going to fight or not?” Harry growled.

Malfoy scoffed and poised himself to fight, with his wand drawn over his head like a scorpion's stinger. The air grew tense as the two boys stared each other down, each one waiting to see who would let fly the first spell.

The door flew open as Ron ran into the classroom.

“It got loose!” Ron cried. “The dragon is loose!”

Norbert scampered in the room right after him, the lantern light illuminating his scales and his ochre eyes. When Harry saw them after the dragonling's entrance, he saw their shock. They were not face to face with only another wizard as they expected to be. They were looking head on at a pitch black dragon that eyed them impassively with his yellow-orange eyes. Norbert snapped his teeth at them and let out a roar that wasn't nearly as majestic as it could have been. Still, Norbert frightened the boys enough that Malfoy shrieked in terror. Crabbe's scream matched his. The two Slytherins ran back the way they came, desperate to get away from the dragon. Norbert chased after them. Whether the dragon thought the boys were food or friend was up for debate.

Harry ran after Norbert and the screaming Slytherin boys. The baby dragon scuttled along the hallway, belching what fire it could produce at the boys. Harry watched as the dragon stopped in the middle of the hallway. A rare steak hit the stone floor with a wet smack. The dragonling pounced at the meat. Something pulled it away. The dragonling squawked at the sudden movement and readied himself to pounce again. Norbert leapt once more and latched onto the meat. The unseen entity pulled steak and dragon. Norbert growled and fumed as he was dragged along with his meal, struggling to gain a solid purchase on the stone floor so it could eat without bother.

The dragon got pulled into a giant wooden crate. Neville threw up the open side, Hermione sealed it shut, and Hagrid lifted it off the floor with tender care.

“We've got ten minutes,” Harry said, checking the watch his father gave him. “Hermione, start cleaning up. Everyone else, let's go.”

Hermione set to work erasing any trace of the dragon's presence a challenge given that a lot of damage done by dragons could not be erased entirely by Magic. The gamekeeper and the four other kids raced away to the Astronomy Tower. They crept along the corridors as quietly as they could but quickly enough that they could stay on schedule or close to it. They heard the Slytherin boys still causing a rumpus, screaming for someone to catch the dragon that ran amok in the school. They paid that no heed and set back to moving the dragonling.

Soon, they hit their biggest obstacle to getting Norbert out of the school. Professor McGonagall stood at the stairwell to the Astronomy Tower.

“What's she doing here?” Harry hissed.

“Patrolling,” Hagrid answered. “Duty for a lot of teachers late this evening.”

“She's the Deputy Headmistress? Why does she have to do this?” Susan asked.

“Perks of being in power,” said Hagrid. “You get to decide what you get to do and what others have to do.”

“Then, how do we get past her?” Ron asked. “The Cloak is only big enough to hide three of us, at most.”

“I might have an idea,” said Susan with some trepidation. “It loses both Neville and I some House points, but Norbert will be safe.”

She handed the Cloak back to Harry. Everyone was intrigued at what she might have in mind. When she planted her lips on Neville's, everyone's went wide as saucers in shock, none more so than Neville. Ron made a look of disgust at the display. Neville was still registering what had happened when she broke the kiss.

“Oh, dear, we're out of bed and snogging,” Susan said to Hagrid. “Whatever shall you do?”

The gamekeeper grabbed both of them and dragged them out of the shadows to the Deputy Headmistress.

“Minerva!” Hagrid cried, shoving both children forward while still gripping their collars.

“Hagrid, I heard screaming,” she said. “What on earth is going on?”

“Don' know 'bout that,” Hagrid said. Shoving the two children forward, he told her, “I found these two snogging in Professor Vector's classroom.”

Professor McGonagall seemed beside herself with outraged surprise at hearing that first-years were snogging after dark. Harry and Ron did as well, not expecting anything even remotely like what was playing out before them.

“Mr Longbottom! And you, Miss Bones!” Professor McGonagall cried. “What on earth could possibly possess you both to do such an irresponsible thing?”

Susan looked about nervously, before answering, “The thrill of it?” Neville was still so flummoxed by Susan's kiss that he couldn't answer.

McGonagall grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away. She looked to Hagrid and said, “See that Longbottom returns to Hufflepuff House. I will lead Miss Bones back to Gryffindor Tower and give her a strong lecture about staying in bed, something I hoped I wouldn't have to do again.” McGonagall pulled Susan sharply away. Susan followed, still trying to catch up with what was happening.

Hagrid left Neville where he stood and went back to the crate that held the one thing he had hoped for for so many years. He rested his hand on the top and whispered, “I'll miss you, Norbert,” before he spun around, grabbed Neville by the collar and pulled him along to Hufflepuff House, leaving Harry and Ron without saying another word.

As soon as the boys knew the coast was clear once more, they moved the crate up the stairs, which was a difficult matter, even if Ron had Levitated it off the ground. It took a great deal of shoving and grunting before they got all the way to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Once they got there, they fell back against the crate. A snarl from the dragonling startled them enough to sit forward. A short break was sorely needed. They looked up at the night sky, the entire night sky was clear. Harry thought for a moment, _It's a shame there's no class tonight. The stars are beautiful._ Ron nudged Harry and gestured to the east. He lit his wand and waved it back and forth over his head three times. A light waved three times in the air in response to Ron. About five minutes later, Harry saw four dark shapes move against the midnight sky. They circled twice before setting down on the top of the Astronomy Tower.

“You know,” said one of the men dismounting from his broom and casting a _Lumos_ from his wand, “when I got that letter of yours, I thought it was just a prank from the twins. I'm very surprised to see I was mistaken.”

Walking up to the boys, the light from Ron's wand and his illuminated some of the man's features, showing that he had the same red hair and spattering of freckles that Ron had, a stocky figure closer to that of the twins than Ron's lanky frame, and the rugged air of someone that spent more than their fair share of time out of doors. This had to be Ron's brother, Charlie.

“You'd still have come to give them what for,” Ron said in the cheeky sort of way that Fred & George would have employed.

“Too right,” Charlie chuckled, clapping his youngest brother on the shoulder.

The older Weasley extended his hand to Harry, who took it graciously. “You must be Harry Potter,” Charlie said to Harry. “Charlie Weasley. It's a pleasure to meet you again.”

“A pleasure,” Harry said as he took Charlie's hand, “though I don't remember meeting you before.”

“That's to be expected,” said Charlie. “You were only a baby.”

“Charlie, we're set,” one of Charlie's friends said.

The other three had set up a harness connecting all four brooms with a large net in the middle to hold the crate. Charlie Levitated the crate and manoeuvered it to sit in the net. It held as he set it down into the floating harness. Harry and Ron shook hands with them all and Charlie and his friends mounted their brooms.

“You get any more dragons on your hands, just let me know,” Charlie told them.

“Will do,” Ron replied. “Hey, Charlie? Don't tell Mum about this, okay?”

“You kidding?” Charlie retorted. “If she found out, she'd have my hide for this, too.”

With that, the dragonkeepers rose into the nighttime sky and flew back the way they came, until they disappeared behind the horizon. Harry brought out the Cloak once more and draped it over them. They crept along the halls as silently as they could. Around the staircase leading to both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Towers, they saw a sight that gladdened them both. McGonagall was leading Malfoy downstairs by the ear, while Filch had Crabbe by his.

“I will see the both of you in detention well into the next year for this,” she scolded.

“But, there's a dragon!” cried Malfoy.

“I'll hear none of this foolishness!” McGonagall scolded.

“This might be the greatest night of my life,” Ron whispered.

Harry, too, had to admit that he was happy to see Malfoy and Crabbe get punished for being out after hours. They moved quickly to the Fat Lady's portrait, gave the password, and crawled through the portrait hole before doffing the Cloak and getting upstairs to their beds before anyone else thought to question them about their whereabouts that night.


	18. Ultimatums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Eighteen  
**Ultimatums**

The next morning, the children were questioned about what Malfoy and Crabbe had told McGonagall the night before. Harry and Ron told the professors they had gone to bed. Despite the fact that McGonagall didn't believe one jot that either of the Slytherin boys had said, she still thought it rather suspicious that the boys would be out after dark without any ulterior motives.

To everyone's surprise, Malfoy and Crabbe were not suspended or expelled from Hogwarts after the night of Norbert's departure. The two Slytherins were, however, ostracised from the green and silver body of students they called their friends. Even Goyle gave the pair of them the cold shoulder given that they had lost Slytherin another thirty-five points apiece. Snape looked on them with disdain, like a disappointed parent looking on their disobedient children.

The Potions Master still looked on Harry and his friends as though they had done this instead. Somehow, Harry suspected that Snape knew they had something to do with it all. Whenever Harry made eye-contact with the Potions Master, his insides turned cold and his head felt like someone was rooting around in his brain, looking for something. Harry broke the gaze as quickly as he could whenever it happened. It always left him unsettled.

*****HPG*****

The last Quidditch match of the year was announced to be between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Wood got everyone whipped back into shape, running the lot of them through drill after drill after arduous, unrelenting drill.

In the weeks before that match, Slytherin played against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They lost against Hufflepuff, to everyone's surprise. The Hufflepuffs cheered as if they had won the Quidditch Cup right then and there. The Slytherins were luckier when it came to their match against the Ravenclaw team. The match lasted little more than thirty minutes when Slytherin's Seeker caught the Snitch, effectively guaranteeing that Slytherin, like Hufflepuff, would not close out the year without a victory on the pitch.

The victory had surprised everyone, especially Wood, who took steps to make certain that no one on his squad got it into their heads that Ravenclaw was a better team in any way that mattered.

After a grueling practice session, Harry had come back to the castle for his supper. He had served himself a plate of cottage pie when Hedwig flew to the table with a note in her beak. She dropped the note at Harry's plate. To Harry's surprise, the note bore Hagrid's untidy scrawl.

_Harry,_

_It's been too long since we spoke. I am grateful you and your friends helped me with our little friend—_

Harry chuckled at Hagrid's reference to Norbert.

_–and I wanted to thank you all for risking your necks to help me get him to Charlie. What say after you finish your exams you all come to the hut for a luncheon? Make it a fine way to start off the summer. Send me your reply as soon as you can._

_Thanks,_

_Hagrid_

Harry brought the letter to the attention of his friends, who were glad that Hagrid had at least decided to try and speak to them after their actions to move Norbert out of the castle. After that night, Hagrid had rarely approached any of them and only responded in curt nods and noncommittal grunts when they tried to greet him. Undoubtedly, the loss of a pet he had wanted since he was a child brought on a harsh grudge against the people who had helped him moved the pet to a safe shelter.

All five friends quickly said yes to luncheon with the Harry sent their reply with Hedwig.

*****HPG*****

Exams began about three weeks after Hagrid sent his letter. They were just as grueling as Hermione had told them they would be. More often than not, Harry felt like his brain was boiling inside his head, as he tried to remember every single thing his instructors tried to instill in them all, both in theory and practice.

The Herbology and Astronomy exams went by without a hitch, with Harry and friends finishing both with some time left over, as did the Charms exam. Professor Flitwick gushed to Hermione that her exam was most impressive, which made her go slightly pink. The Transfiguration exam turned out to be more challenging. The practical tripped up Harry more times than he cared to admit. Ron very nearly turned one or two spells on himself. History of Magic was an absolute bore, as it was nothing but writing essay after essay after horribly tedious essay. Hermione flew through hers like it was nothing.

Professor Quirrell's exam was rather scattered, the professor himself was more consumed in the instructions Professor Sprout gave to him over the care of a plant he had just received from friends outside of the country. Half the time, he didn't pay attention to how students performed the spells he had taught earlier in the year. Nevertheless, Harry's practical exam impressed the professor enough for Harry get a stuttered "Well done" when he was finished.

Their Astronomy exam didn't take up much time in the evening. All that was really done for the practical was to draw star charts from naked-eye observations. The theory of Astronomy was easy enough to explain, with writing that many plants and spells were affected by the movements of the spheres outside their own. A few examples that didn't include the Moon helped ensure, at least in Harry's mind, that his wasn't a complete failure.

Undoubtedly, though, the worst of the exams was the Potions exam. Snape separated them all to individual cauldrons. He made it clear to the lot of them that they were to concentrate solely on their exams and no one else's, and that even one glance away from their work would result in an automatic failure. As he said this, his eyes stayed trained on Harry, as if the message was meant for him and him alone. No doubt the Potions Master was still angry about Malfoy and Crabbe losing Slytherin seventy points.

Snape set them all to the task of making three of any of the potions they learned to brew in the course of the past year, by memory alone within three hours. Harry set about making his first potion, wondering if all this were merely a chance for the Potions Master to berate or humiliate him. Harry shook himself out of that and any paranoid thought he could have and set to the task set before him and the other students.

Harry started off with the Potion to Cure Boils, which took less time than he expected. After that, he brewed what he thought would pass for a decent Wiggenweld Potion. Then, he completed his best attempt at a Forgetfulness Potion. All this he did, fighting back his worst feelings that he was going to fail on his own, or that Snape would fail him just on a whim. At that point in time, he couldn't decide which would be worse.

He finally finished his Forgetfulness Potion, bringing it along with his other two potions and his written exam. He set the exam before Snape, matching his professor's gaze. As Harry felt his resentment toward the Potions Master grow almost exponentially, he laid each of his potions before the professor, setting each down on the desk with the loud thud of glass on wood. No sooner had he set the last potion on the teacher's desk than his scar flared with pain. A high, cold, almost gleeful laugh echoed through his mind. Once the pain abated, Snape gave him a queer look, as if concern for the boy had entered his emotional knowledge. Harry did an about-face, cleaned his cauldron and workstation, and sat down, waiting for Snape to tell him he could go.

Hermione finished her quiz and potions and sat back down. Padma Patil and Zacharias Smith finished as well, but it wasn't until Malfoy finished everything of his that Snape said, "Those who have completed their exam may leave, and pray that you passed." Harry gathered everything of his and rushed away just as the pain in his scar completely went away.

Hermione caught up to him and asked, "What's the matter?"

"My scar flared up at the end of the test," he replied. "I could hear him laughing, in my head."

"You could hear Snape laughing in your mind?"

"Not Snape. Voldemort." Hermione flinched at the name. "He was laughing about something."

"What was that?"

"I don't know, but I get the feeling that it's a warning, like danger's coming."

Hermione stepped back. "You should get checked out by Madame Pomfrey."

"She won't say anything I haven't heard from her before."

"Still, please see her," she pleaded. "For my piece of mind, and yours."

Despite his not wanting to do anything of the sort, Harry relented to his sister's wishes and went to Madame Pomfrey. The matron took one look at him and pronounced that Harry was just coming down from the stress of final exams and the headache would dissipate within the next hour. The head ache had gone away the moment he stepped into the Hospital Wing, but Harry didn't mention that.

Once he was done with Madame Pomfrey, Harry made his way down to Hagrid's hut to join the gamekeeper and his friends for their end-of-term lunch. Coming out of the castle, Harry saw all of gathered outside at Hagrid's picnic table. Fang bounded around them and barked for their attention, hoping for some small morsel or a whole sandwich. Coming up to the hut, everyone cheered at his arrival.

"Good to see you, Harry!" cried Hagrid. Hermione offered him a bottle of something he had never heard of.

"Butterbeer," Susan told him. "From a pub down in the village. It's quite good."

Harry had a taste. It was good, as Susan had said, and tasted like creamy butterscotch, at least to Harry. Hagrid got a plate together for Harry with sandwiches made with chicken and roast beef (he stressed to Ron it wasn't corned beef as the young Weasley feared), potato salad, and finger foods like deviled eggs and charcuterie. A plate of Hagrid's signature rock cakes sat on the table, untouched (though Neville had taken one out of politeness, it too was uneaten), along with a pitcher of lemonade.

"Exams go alright?" Hagrid asked Harry.

"Well enough," Harry replied. "I just hope I pass and get to come back."

"The school wouldn't turn you away, even if your scores were the worst," Hagrid told him. "Once you're here, you always have a place to call your home away from home. Now, come one. Let's enjoy ourselves."

All the kids sat down as Hagrid stood at the head of the table. "All right! Tuck in!"

Hagrid's motion to sit down ceased as a white arrow struck the other end of the table with a loud thunk. Susan and Hermione shrieked and everyone scrambled away from the table. Hagrid ushered them into the hut, shouting "Get inside! Get inside!"

Once everyone got into the hut, Hagrid grabbed the crossbow and quiver off the wall, loaded a bolt with rapid fluidity and strapped on the quiver just as quickly before he told the kids "Stay in here, don't come out lest I say so," and slammed the door behind him. The kids dashed to the windows and looked outside to see the gamekeeper storming past the table. Out of the forest came Bane and Ronan. The black centaur had another arrow nocked and ready to loose.

"We mean you no harm, Hagrid," Ronan cried.

"You loosed a volley at a bunch of kids!" Hagrid shouted back, raising the crossbow and pointing it straight at the black centaur. "What did you want me to think?"

"It was one arrow!" shouted Bane. "That is hardly a volley."

"Tell that to the kids you nearly struck," Hagrid shouted back. He loosed a bolt that sailed just past the centaur's ear.

The centaur aimed his arrow at Hagrid, a sneer curling his lip as drew back on the bow. Ronan cantered forward and stood between them, hands outstretched, urging both parties to lower their arms. Only Hagrid complied immediately, taking his hand away from the quiver at his belt; Bane lowered his bow a short while after.

They didn't hear what the auburn centaur and Hagrid talked about. They only saw that about a minute after Ronan stopped the confrontation, Hagrid marched back to the hut. He shoved open the door, but still stood outside.

"Neville, come on outside," said Hagrid. Neville nervously stood up and came forward. Hagrid guided him out the door, keeping himself between the boy and the centaurs. The other kids dashed up behind them. Hagrid shooed them back into the hut.

"Neville, run to the castle," Hagrid told him. "Get the Headmaster. Only the Headmaster. Lead them straight back here. Go. Now."

Neville ran straight for the castle, not looking back, focused entirely on the destination in front of him.

Harry came up to Hagrid and asked, "What's going on?"

Hagrid did not answer as he gazed with resentment at the centaurs. Bane's lip curled into a sneer as he glared at the humans. They stood there waiting for the Headmaster, not taking their eyes off each other. Not once did Hagrid's finger leave the crossbow's trigger.

Footfalls finally broke their gaze as they looked toward the castle. Neville ran back from the castle, followed by a harried-looking woman striding briskly behind him. The person following Neville wasn't Dumbledore—it was Professor McGonagall. "What on earth is going on here?" McGonagall cried as she came to a stop beside the gamekeeper.

"Where is the Headmaster?" growled Bane.

"He has been called away," McGonagall explained.

"Where?"

"London. He'll be away for three days."

"It is with him we demand an audience, not you."

"I speak for the school in his stead. You will speak with me or no one at all," she told Bane with the utmost resolution. She asked Hagrid, "What has happened?"

"They found a third unicorn dead," Hagrid said in a calm but urgent voice. "They want to issue terms."

"Terms for what?" cried McGonagall.

"For the surrender of the killer," Bane shouted.

"The killer is no one in our castle."

"Ronan saw the beast flee to your keep! So did that youngling!" Bane pointed his still-nocked arrow at Harry. Hagrid was about ready to raise his crossbow to Harry's defence, before the centaur lowered his weapon.

"That does not mean it is there, nor does that mean one of us killed them."

"You are still harbouring a killer of innocents!" Bane shouted.

"We are doing no such thing!"

"Enough!" shouted Ronan. The auburn centaur stepped between them and spoke with great sternness. "Three unicorns have died. This must stop! We demand justice."

"You will have it," McGonagall told him with a glare.

"You have had months to find the killer, and that time has yielded naught," Ronan scolded. "We are in no mood for more of your empty words. Now, we bring you our demands. You will turn over one of your younglings to us, or we will take one."

Everyone who wasn't a centaur looked as though they had been clobbered by a sack full of bricks. Even Hagrid, who dealt with the centaurs more than anyone in the school, nearly dropped his crossbow in shock at Ronan's demand.

"That is out of the question," McGonagall shouted. "This is no fair trade."

"No, it is not. No number of souls can compensate for the loss of one unicorn. But, this is the only way your kind will ever understand that. Your innocents for ours. Now, give us one of the younglings."

"We will do no such thing," growled McGonagall.

"I'll go," said Neville, stepping forward.

Neville's words hit them all, centaur and human alike, just as hard as Ronan's edict. Susan took him by the wrist and pulled him back.

"Neville, what do you think you're doing?" she asked.

"This isn't the best idea," Harry told him, wanting to convince Neville just as Susan did.

"Don't be stupid, Neville," said Ron.

"I'm not," Neville told them. "I'm trying to be what any Hufflepuff would be in a time like this: just."

Neville broke out of Susan's grip and stepped forward again. All Harry could do was watch this all unfold before him, dumbstruck at the scene before him.

"Mr Longbottom, I urge you not to go forward with this," McGonagall told him.

Neville just walked around her and stood before the auburn centaur. "I'll go with you, if it means there will be peace between us," Neville told Ronan.

The centaur's face stayed impassive as he gazed upon the boy that showed more bravery than anyone there.

Ronan spoke over his shoulder. "Take the boy to the camp."

As Bane strode forward to take Neville away, McGonagall tried to dash forward to take him back. Ronan was quick to draw an arrow to keep McGonagall and everyone else at bay. Bane picked up Neville with one arm and galloped back into the woods.

"You have met our terms, for now," said Ronan.

"For now?" McGonagall asked in disbelief.

"Come the next dawn, you will bring the killer to us. If you do not have the killer at that time, then you will bring another child. The dawn after, the same terms apply. On the third dawn after this day, if you do not have the killer apprehended, the children's lives are forfeit."

Susan had nearly fainted at the final declaration. She lost her balance in shock and Ron caught her and held her up, as she came within a heartbeat of weeping inconsolably. Harry and Hermione could only look at Ronan with a mixture of stupor and anger. Hagrid looked about to either snap his crossbow in half or loose his entire quiver in Ronan's chest.

"That is unacceptable," McGonagall yelled. "You would break the only inviolable rule of our pact to get them?"

"You have left us with no choice," said Ronan, lowering his bow and stowing the arrow back in his quiver. "The killer in exchange for the children. We will brook no further discussion until you fulfill our terms."

With that, Ronan turned and galloped back into the woods.

*****HPG*****

No one, not even Ron, was hungry after that encounter. Hagrid packed everything up and took it back into his hut. McGonagall told all of them not to breathe one word to anyone else in the school, before she dashed away to the Owlery to send word to Professor Dumbledore about the recent events.

The children numbly walked back to the castle. No one spoke about Neville being taken or about the terms the centaurs gave McGonagall. Hermione left to go to her House Common Room. Susan only sat down in one of the chairs in the Common Room when they got to Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Harry tried to coax her into a good mood to no avail. She eventually went to the girls' dormitory at dusk, leaving Harry and Ron alone in front of the fire that still burned there.

Looking into the fire, Harry mused, "Snape got another unicorn, and now Neville's is a hostage in the Dark Forest."

"And to think, I was worried about our Potions final," Ron replied.

"This is no time for jokes," said Harry, scolding him.

"It wasn't meant to be."

"How do we stop him?"

"We? Who says _we_ can do anything?"

"We're the only ones who know about what he's doing and what he's after."

"Harry, we don't know for certain it really is Snape."

"Who else would be?"

"If any of the other teachers knew what they were protecting, any of them could be after it. And guess what? They did know, and they could be after it."

"Snape is after it, Ron. He tried to kill me at the Quidditch match and in the Forest, and he let the troll loose in the school while he tried to get past Fluffy."

"If that's true, Snape won't go after it again when Fluffy is around," Ron said. "Fluffy nearly took his leg off and he won't be in a hurry to try that again. And even if he found a way to get past the dog, how would he?"

Harry gazed into the fire in the hearth, almost expecting to find some sort of answers in the flames. Ron left for bed, leaving Harry to stare into the fire. His mind continued to think of how the Potions Master would get past the dog

Harry rested on his bed, looking up at the canopy. His mind passed over and over the thought of how Snape would get past Fluffy. How would Snape get the other teachers to tell him what the other teachers did in the third-floor corridor? How could he get to Hagrid? Had he done that already?

As far as Harry knew, Hagrid had everything that he could possibly want. It was possible that Hagrid didn't have anything he wanted more than life itself. He was always content with his life, living on the edge of the Dark Forest, going through the woods.

Harry got the sense, though, that Hagrid was still lonely and still sought friends wherever they might be. Fang had been a good companion before Harry and his friends came along, and he still was, but it wouldn't be enough, and Harry and his friends came around enough to keep him company and make him happy.

He would want something that was more like him. Something everyone saw as dangerous, but could still connect emotionally with...

Then, it hit him, harder than the heaviest weight, deeper than the sharpest knife. How could they have missed that connection? How could everyone have been so blind to what was right in front of them?

Any other question he could think of would have to wait until the morning came.

*****HPG*****

Tried as he might, though, he couldn't get a wink of sleep, but he did manage to get to his feet just as dawn broke. Before anyone else could wake up, Harry crept out of Gryffindor Tower. Once he got out of the castle, he ran full tilt to Hagrid's hut. He slammed up against the door and began banging his fist against it. The door flew open almost instantly. Hagrid had his crossbow drawn and loaded, ready to loose a bolt at a moment's notice. He looked around wild-eyed before his eyes fell upon the boy at his door.

"Are the centaurs about?" he asked Harry in confusion.

"No, it's just me," Harry told him as the gamekeeper ushered him inside.

Hagrid closed the door and unloaded the crossbow before he hung it back on the wall.

"What's got into you this time?" Hagrid asked him as he set a bowl of dog food in front of Fang.

"I need to ask you something," Harry said. "About Norbert."

Hagrid's face sunk into an expression of gloom and resentment.

"That ain't summat I want to be talkin' about," Hagrid told the boy gruffly.

"It's not so much about Norbert as it is about how you got him."

"I already told you, Harry. I won him playin' at a hand of cards."

"From who?"

"I dunno. I never saw his face. Had his cloak drawn up the whole time."

Harry could almost feel the blood drain from his face. Seeing the look on Harry's face, Hagrid told him, "It ain't that uncommon when you're at the Hog's Head. People go there either to drink or not be seen. I could only guess he was there fer the latter."

"Did he ask you about what you did for a living?"

"Mighta come up," Hagrid answered, trying to remember the events of that night. "Nah, wait, it did come up. He said he'd seen me 'bout the village, then walking to and from the school time to time, wondered what I did up there and whatnot. I told him and that interested him a bit. He started buying us round after round about then. He asked me what sort of creatures I handled. Things got a bit fuzzy after that."

"When did he offer you the dragon egg?" asked Harry.

"Musta been on the twelfth round. I musta brought up that I wanted to have a dragon someday, laws be damned and what have yeh. And then, he brought the egg out for me to see. He kept buying us drinks and I kept drinking 'em.

"I asked him if I could buy it off him. He didn't wanna give it up that easy, so he made the suggestion that we play for it, best of seven hands. I won the first two, then he got one, then I got another. He won the next two after that. I was near ready to call it off when I got the final hand. I won! I won the egg." His face fell from exuberance to sorrow as he remembered how all that turned out.

"But, that wasn't the end of it, was it?"

Hagrid muttered, "No, it wasn't. He didn't wanna let go of it. He told me he didn't want to pass it off to just anybody. He wanted to be sure I could look after it properly. And I told him that after Fluffly, a dragon would be a walk in the park."

"Did he seem...interested in Fluffy?"

"Of course he did. Hellhounds are rare. Three-headed ones, even more so. So, I told him, 'Listen, mate, the trick to getting any beast under control is knowin' how to calm them. It took me near a dog's age when it came to Fluffy, but now I just play a bit of music and he falls right to sleep—'"

A horrified look fell over both their faces as Hagrid realised what his actions meant to them all.

"I should'na told yeh that," he blurted. "Forget what I—Oi! Where ya going?"

Harry was already out the door when Hagrid realised what he had done. He raced back to the castle. He ran as fast as he could, over the grass and into the stone halls. He focused only on getting to Hermione to tell her what Hagrid told him. He found her in the library, reading a book their mother had sent her. He walked briskly and sat right across from her.

"We have a problem," Harry told her.

"On top of waiting for our exam results?" she answered without looking up from her book.

Harry leaned across the table and whispered to her, "Someone got Hagrid to tell them how to get past Fluffy."

Hermione closed her book and looked up in shock. "What?"

"They got him drunk and gave Hagrid the egg in order to know how to get past Fluffy."

"Why didn't we see that?"

"Because it's Hagrid," said Harry. "They must have known how much we care about Hagrid and guessed we would do just about anything to help him."

"What do we do?"

"We have to go to McGonagall."

The siblings raced through the halls to McGonagall's classroom, where the professor sat at her desk, grading the exams before her. Without looking up, she told Harry and Hermione, "Once I have the results of your exams, you will know then and not a moment sooner."

"It's not that, Professor," Harry replied. "It's about the situation in the Forest."

Professor McGonagall set the exam aside and took another to grade. "The situation is well in hand," said the professor. "Despite my having to send Mr Warrington into the woods this morning, Professor Dumbledore has stated that he will return as quickly as he is able. Once he is here, the situation will be resolved."

"But, what about the Stone?" cried Harry.

"What stone?" asked the professor.

"The Philosopher's Stone!"

The professor dropped her quill, sending up a spray of ink that spattered herself and the paper she had been grading.

"How on Earth do you—?" she asked with a gasp.

"That doesn't matter!" cried Harry. "What matters is that the Stone is safe!"

McGonagall rose up to her full height and walked around the desk. "I don't know how you learned of the Stone and its presence in the school, nor do I care that you do know. What matters is that it is secure. No one, apart from the Headmaster, can get to it without threat to their safety. Once the Headmaster returns, the Stone will be transported away from the school grounds. Until then, you will stay your collective tongue about all of this. More importantly, you will stay away from the third-floor corridor. Do I make myself abundantly clear?"

All Harry and Hermione could do was nod to her instructions and leave. Without McGonagall on their side, there were few adults who could help them in their attempt at keeping Snape from another attempt at stealing the Stone. And if Dumbledore were really involved in stealing it, there would be no stopping them.

"Dumbledore will be back before you even know it," said Hermione. "Once he is, he'll put an end to all this, for sure."

"It might be too late," Harry told her. "Once they get the Stone, there's no telling what will happen, especially when Vodlemort has his way with it."

"They?"

"It has to be either Snape or Dumbledore helping Voldemort."

"You still think that Dumbledore is involved in trying to take it," she said. "Seriously?"

"Why would he have the Stone here in the first place?"

"We've been over this again and again, Harry," Hermione chided. "If Dumbledore wanted the Stone, he could get it any time he wanted without anyone being the wiser. Just because he hasn't yet doesn't mean he's been biding his time. Besides, how can he get it? He's all the way south in London."

"Dumbledore might have left just to throw us all off. Who knows what the Headmaster can do while he's here? He has something to do with this."

"Of course he does. He set up a gauntlet to protect a legendary object from the likes of a hate-filled madman in the middle of a school full of children."

"Hermione, I don't care if you believe me or not. I'm certain that both Snape and Dumbledore want the Stone, and they'll stop at nothing to get it."

"I don't agree with you about Dumbledore. He might be displaying poor judgment in protecting the Stone, but that certainly doesn't mean he's after it himself. I only agree with you about Snape."

"Agree about what, precisely, Ms Granger?" a voice behind them asked. The two siblings wheeled around to find the Potions Master glowering down at them.

"Nothing, Professor," Hermione stammered.

"Well, then, whatever conversations you have, furtive or not, ought to be continued outside," the professor told the children with an odd smile. "It's too beautiful a day to be wasted indoors."

"We were-" Harry began before the professor cut him off.

"I would insist that you take yourselves outside," the Potions Master told them with a more curt tone than before. "Hanging around as you are, people might think you were up to something." The professor locked eyes with Harry, who matched the glare. The professor's gaze soured into one of contempt.

"Miss Granger, go. Now." Hermione didn't go anywhere. "Potter, a word, if you please."

Snape gestured down the hallway and every sound in his voice implied that his request was nothing of the sort. The professor began to walk down the hall. Harry followed, saying to his sister over his shoulder, "Tell the others," before he left her where she stood.

Every step Snape took Harry had to take two or three to keep pace. The professor did not look back at Harry or say another word until he shoved the door to his office open. The door slammed into the wall and shook the jars that lined the shelves.

"Take a seat, Potter," the Potion Master grumbled. "And close the door behind you." Harry did so very hesitantly, keeping his eye on the teacher. Snape continued to grade the papers on his desk, not looking up even once to see if Harry had done as he asked.

The teacher made a great slash of red on the paper in front of him. Harry cringed as he watched what he saw, until he realised it was just ink.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," said the professor, without looking up. "You passed your written exam, if only barely."

Snape slid forward the paper upon which he had made the great red slash. It was Harry's exam and, indeed, he had scored a 91 on his Potions exam. The Potions Master set aside the next paper he was grading and glowered at Harry. The moment their eyes met, Harry felt his insides go cold. It felt like Snape was poking around inside his head, like he was rooting around inside without even entering his head.

"You don't think very highly of me, do you, Potter?" the professor asked.

Harry didn't know how to answer. If he lied, Snape would certainly know. If he told the truth, there was no telling how Snape would react. Detention, probably. Maybe dock a few points from Gryffindor, just to show Harry who was in charge. Should he be truthful? What would Snape do?

"I'm waiting, Potter," growled Snape. "Please, tell me what you really think of me."

Harry swallowed the lump that was growing in his throat, looked the professor square in the eye, and answered, "I know you're up to something."

"What could I possibly be up to?" the professor asked, more amused than angry.

"You're after the Philosopher's Stone."

Snape smirked slightly at Harry's accusations. He leaned back in his chair as he shook his head in amusement. "So, you know about the Lapis?"

"Yes, I do, and I know you want it for your master."

"My master?"

"Voldemort."

The Potions Master flinched and his smirk soured at the mention of the Dark wizard.

"I know you'll do anything to get it, like attack a fellow teacher or try to kill a student."

"And how, exactly, do you know it is I who covets it?"

"I know. That's all I need."

Snape chuckled and stood up to his full height, looking down on Harry with a glare that could turn the freshest fruit to rot. "If you suspect me of all this, you would have proof to support those claims. So, tell me, what might you have against me, if anything?"

When Harry didn't answer, the professor said, "That's exactly what I thought."

The Potions Master walked around the desk, keeping his glare on Harry.

"You are just like your father," the professor snarled, "an over-privileged brat with a mind as dull as a pair of rusted scissors, but slightly less functional. It is laughable to see what sort of conclusions you come to when you truly put your mind to the task. Every word that has left your lips is sheer nonsense. In fact, I believe I've heard enough."

The professor threw open the door to his office and pointed out the door. "Go enjoy the rest of this day, Potter. And be warned, if I find out that you or any of your friends have cast any other aspersions against me, I will have you expelled."

This didn't feel right to Harry. Wasn't Snape supposed to answer the allegations Harry made? Tell Harry he was mistaken, explain himself and his actions away? This made no sense.

All Harry could do, though, was do as Snape told him to do and leave. As he was about to cross the threshold, Harry looked up at the professor, and said, "You may have everyone else convinced, but I know everything you've done. You attacked Professor McGonagall last summer, you tried to kill me twice, and then you bribed Hagrid." At the mention of the dealings with Hagrid, the professor looked upon Harry with a flash of greater worry than he let on. "I will stop you."

Snape bent down, grabbed Harry by the front of his robes. The Potions Master glared at Harry square in the eye, his black eyes brimming with malice, and growled, "Now, you listen to me, boy, and listen well. A spoiled whelp like you won't overcome what lies between the dog and the Lapis, no matter how determined you are or how gifted you _think_ you might be. Have at it, for all I care, but know this: If you even try to go after it, you will regret it. If somehow you survive it all, I will _make you wish you had died in its confines_. Then, everyone will know how much of a failure the Boy Who Lived truly is."

Snape shoved Harry out into the hall and slammed the door in Harry's face, leaving him fuming. Harry stalked away to find Hermione and their friends. He found them waiting in the Great Hall, whispering amongst themselves. Harry ran up to them and told them everything about his conversation with Snape.

"We can stop him," Harry told them. "We have to."

"How?" asked Ron. "Snape has more magic in his little finger than any of would have by our seventeenths."

"We have to get the Stone before he can," Harry told them. "And we have to do it tonight."

Harry left them sitting in the Great Hall with looks of utmost perplexity as they still hadn't completely understood what they had said. Hermione rushed after him with their other friends in tow.

"This is the most idiotic thing you could possibly do," Hermione told him. "We can't go in there. We don't know what's in there."

"Fluffy and the Stone are in there."

"And what else?" asked Susan. "Hermione's right. You can't expect all of us to go in there half-blind to everything that could kill us."

Hermione and Susan turned to Ron, expecting him to side with them. He didn't disappoint them. "I would feel loads better if we knew what we're up against."

Harry was besides himself hearing all this. "Where have you all been this whole time? You know what we're up against: Voldemort."

They all flinched again.

"It doesn't matter who's doing the dirty work for him. Snape, Dumbledore, whoever. It's Voldemort behind it all. It's Voledemort who wanted the Stone, it's Voldemort who ordered the attack on McGonagall, it's Voldemort who set his servant on me, it's Voldemort who put Neville in the situation he's in now. If we do nothing, the Stone's as good as his."

"And if we go into the corridor without a plan, we're as good as expelled," Hermione told him.

"SO WHAT?" Harry cried. "If Snape gets the Stone, Voldemort's coming back. This place will turn into a school for nothing but the Dark Arts. And everywhere else, it'll be so much worse. Losing points doesn't matter anymore. Getting expelled is the least of my worries. I am not letting that...BASTARD come back. I'm not even giving him the chance. I'm going through that trapdoor tonight with or without the three of you."

"What a speech," a voice said behind them. They turned to find Malfoy leaning against the wall and giving him a slow clap with a smirk across his face. "I'm so moved. I even think it brought a tear to my eye."

"Get lost, Malfoy." Ron said, almost as a reflex.

"How much did you hear?" asked Harry.

"More than enough," the blond boy answered. "The Philosopher's Stone? In Hogwarts? That's the stuff of legends. I want in."

"Like hell," Ron cried.

"You need a fifth person," said Malfoy. "If that dunderhead Longbottom were here, he'd be a part of all this. I'll fill in for him."

"Why would you even want to work with us?" asked Susan, in disbelief of the scene.

"I've become something of an outcast in Slytherin, all thanks to you lot. That win we got over Ravenclaw didn't salve anything between me and them. I'm still the stupid berk that lost points because of midnight antics. I want to win back my points and them some."

"And you think the easiest to do that is to work with the very people you see as putting you in your current position?" asked Hermione.

"You're the darlings of the school," Malfoy replied. "You can do no wrong."

"How can we know we can trust you?" said Harry. "For all we know, you'll turn around right after this conversation and go straight to Snape or whoever and tell them all about what's happening here just to get back at us."

"I want my status back, Potter," Malfoy told him. "I know I can't convince you with simple words, so how about this?"

Malfoy slipped his Potions dagger out of his bag. Once unsheathed, he sliced open his palm, deep enough only to bleed a little.

"Blood oath," he said simply. "You don't act against me, I won't act against you, until the start of the next term." He held out his bleeding hand out in truce, and offered the dagger to Harry, holding the blade. He almost felt the untrusting, judgmental gazes of his friends on his skin as he took the dagger and sliced open his own arm.

Before he put his hand in Malfoy's, Harry told him, "You don't act against us, we don't act against you."

"That's right," Malfoy replied.

"Within the school or outside the school?"

"Until the first of September. By Merlin and Morgaine, do I swear this."

Harry offered his hand to Malfoy, who grasped it firmly and gave it a brisk shake.

"What time tonight?" Malfoy said to them all.

"Midnight," Harry told him. "You had better be there."

Malfoy held up his hand. "I don't really have a choice anymore," he told Harry with a snide tone. "See you at midnight."

Malfoy spun around and strutted away, leaving Susan, Hermione, and Ron to glare at their friend like he had decided to take up silver and green robes himself.

"Have you gone completely mental?" Ron asked him.

"What would possess you to bring him into this?" asked Susan.

"We need as many people as we can get to get through what's below the trapdoor," Harry told them. "If Neville were still here, I wouldn't let him in on this. I don't like it any more all of you, but Malfoy knows, and we have to keep as close an eye on him as we can."

The three friends resigned themselves to that fact, though they wished they didn't have to.

"He's right," said Hermione. "I don't like bringing Malfoy into the fold, but we have to control him in some way."

"We're not controlling him, though," said Susan. "He cornered us with this and practically blackmailed us. We should find someone else to do this."

"Telling anyone else about what's in the third-floor corridor would only bring us ridicule, refusal, or both. Or worse, they'll do what Malfoy should have done and tell someone so they can keep us away. The less people know about this, the better. Five of us will be good to get through it all. We don't have a choice now. Malfoy comes with." She asked him, "Midnight, then?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "You meet with Malfoy, wait for us as close to the corridor as you can without being seen. Ron, Susan and I will meet you two there."

Hermione left them while Ron and Susan stayed behind. Ron muttered, "A Weasley working with a Malfoy. My father would disown me if he heard about this."

"You're absolutely certain this is the right thing to do?" Susan asked Harry.

"I am," said Harry, even though he wasn't. "But, if something goes wrong, it will be on me."

"As long as we're clear on that point," Susan told him, before she and Ron left for lunch, leaving Harry to wonder how everything would turn out at midnight.


	19. The Gauntlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Nineteen  
**The Gauntlet**

 

All Harry could think as the hours crept up to midnight was what an idiot he was being. Going into this without any idea of what was in the third-floor corridor beyond Fluffy was stupid at best. Still, he told himself, there was no time to find out. None of the teachers would ever tell them what they put in place to deter any would-be plunderer. He mulled over whether it was a good idea to bring in Malfoy. There was a strong chance the Slytherin would turn on them. From what Hermione told him about blood oaths, though, there was little chance of him breaking it, or of Harry breaking it. - _You're still an idiot_ , he told himself. - _Yes, but we didn't have a choice. -Of course you did. -You could have told that git to bugger off and set himself on fire._

Harry stopped arguing with himself before he spent all night doing that. The clock read eight. All he could do now was wait until they had to leave for the corridor.

*****HPG*****

Quarter to midnight came. Harry and Ron had waited for the other to fall asleep. Once they were certain they could leave without any fuss, Harry and Ron crept out as quietly as they could. Susan was waiting down in the Common Room, arms folded across her chest. Once they got themselves under the Cloak, the three Gryffindors shuffled out through the portrait hole and down toward the third-floor corridor.

The halls felt as though a greater air of tension ran through them. Whether this was due to the situation with the centaurs or their own heightened state of fear was up for debate. Regardless, they managed to find Hermione and Malfoy without any encounters from Mr Filch and his cat or any of the other staff.

“You're late,” Malfoy hissed when they revealed themselves.

“And you're an annoying berk,” Harry replied. To Hermione, he asked, “Any teachers out?”

“McGonagall's been around,” answered Hermione. “We saw Snape only once an hour ago. He looks like he's up to something.”

“Professor Snape?” Malfoy asked in disbelief. “If he were up to something, it would be to throw the lot of us out of the school.”

“Can we get moving, please?” Ron asked. “I'd rather get this over with.”

“Same here,” said Malfoy. “The sooner I get away from Weasley, the sooner I can take a flea bath.”

Harry threw his arm in front of Malfoy, stopping the pale bond boy in his tracks. “As long as you're working with us, you won't say a bad word about any of us, no matter what you really think. Got it?”

“Fine,” the boy drawled. “I won't say a bad thing about any of you. It's just as well. If you hadn't told me that, I might have brought up Bones's family or—” Malfoy's insult was cut off by Susan taking out her wand and jabbing it at his face.

“Say even one more word about my family and I will end you right here and now,” she growled at him. Everyone looked at her as if she would kill him on the spot. They were shocked, more than anything else. Malfoy was most likely frightened out of his wits at her threat, or maybe half-appalled that she would ever threaten the likes of him in the first place. Either way, he apologised, without sounding apologetic. “Sorry.”

Susan stowed her wand, still shooting him daggers.

“Who's there?” they heard someone call with a playful lilt. It was the worst possible person—or spirit—that was coming. Peeves.

“Someone's out of bed,” the poltergeist cackled. “Peeves can tell.”

“Quick!” Harry whispered. “Get under the Cloak!”

“We won't all fit under there,” Hermione replied.

“Hold it up in front of us,” Ron suggested. All five of them ducked into a corner and nestled in tight. Ron and Malfoy held up the Cloak to block them from view. Both of them glared at each other, each expecting the other to drop their end and reveal themselves. Peeves finally came into view, bouncing through the air. Peeves stopped and looked right at them, thought it seemed he didn't register who it really was.

“Peeves can see you,” he said. “Or Peeves knows someone's there. Hidin', makin' themselves unvisible.”

“He knows we're here,” Hermione whispered.

“Ought to turn you in,” Peeves cackled. “Can't have none out of bed at this time of night.”

“What do we do?” whispered Susan. “We have to get him away.”

“You can't,” Malofy whispered back. “No one can get Peeves to do what they want.”

Malfoy was right. There was no one in the school Peeves would ever answer to, no one that could control him. No one except—

“Peeves,” Harry groaned. “The Bloody Baron does not have to answer the likes of you.”

The poltergeist quailed at the mention of the only entity in the entire school who could make Peeves submit to their will. “So sorry, Your Bloodiness, Mr Baron, sir. Peeves didn't see you there, sir. Prolly 'cause of the unvisibleness and what have you.” When Harry didn't answer, Peeves went on. “Peevesie meant no ill will, sir. Only wishing to cause some trouble, sir. To anyone that ain't you, that is.”

“You may cause trouble anywhere you like,” Harry intoned. “So long as you cause none here. I have business at this place that must not be disturbed, by anyone.”

“Of course, sir.” The poltergeist was about to fly away post haste, but he stopped and turned with a more fawning look than he'd ever had. Peeves asked, “With Baron's permission, might Peeves make a big clamour in the kitchen? Peeves would love that, if you's all right with it?”

Harry looked back at his compatriots, wondering if that would be okay. All of them shrugged their shoulders as if to say, _Sure why not?_

Harry told the poltergeist, “Make it loud.”

“I'll make it the loudest, sir,” Peeves answered in glee, giving a mock salute and flying away with a purpose.

Harry brought down the Cloak and folded it up, stowing it away in his pocket.

“Not as devious as that bit with the dragon but damn good, especially from a Gryffindor,” said Malfoy. “Are you sure you belong there?”

“Let's get going,” replied Harry, pointedly deflecting the question. Harry led them to the door that kept Fluffy at bay. It was already ajar, cracked open so that soft music from a harp fell unto the ears of anyone outside.

“Oh, no,” Harry said, pushing the door open. They soon found their fears were right. Fluffy lay on the floor, dozing, one paw resting on the trapdoor, while the harp played some calming melody that kept the beast in its slumber.

“What the hell is that?” Malfoy cried when his eyes fell upon the dog. They all hushed him.

“It's Fluffy,” said Harry.

“It's got three heads!” Malfoy whispered in shock.

“Fluffy's from Greece,” Harry told him, doubting it would make any difference. “Ron, help me move his paw.”

Ron bent down and helped Harry shift the dog's paw from the trapdoor. Fluffy stirred slightly, causing them all to freeze in panic, hoping the dog wouldn't wake up. Thankfully, Fluffy didn't get up and stayed asleep. Ron and Harry moved the paw completely out of the way. Harry lifted the hatch open, gently setting the door to the floor as quietly as he could.

They could see nothing below but darkness. They could make out certain outlines of stones in the wall before the darkness consumed it.

“How far down does it go?” asked Ron.

Hermione muttered something into her hand. One of her bluebell flames blossomed in her hand. She dropped it down into the room below, where it bathed everything in its light. For some strange reason, the flame flew up slightly on its descent before falling back down and coming to a spot on a smooth stone floor.

“Looks like there's a Cushioning Charm down there,” Hermione said.

“Why do that?” asked Ron.

“To give someone anyone stupid enough to do this a sporting chance?” Malfoy suggested.

“Whatever the reason, we can get down there without any real injury,” said Harry. “We have to jump down.”

“Are we drawing straws, then?” asked Susan.

“I'll go first,” said Ron.

“You will?” Malfoy asked.

“Of course I will,” Ron retorted. “Watch.”

Before anyone suggested a better idea, Ron jumped through the trapdoor. They looked down at the room with the guttering blue flame to see Ron plummet to the stone floor below, before being caught by some invisible net and let down gently to the ground.

When he got to his feet, Ron shouted to them, “It's safe! Come on down!”

No sooner had Ron said that than the harp stopped playing. The dog stirred, all three heads yawning. Fluffy rolled onto its belly, all six eyes squinting into the dark room. Nobody moved. Everyone stood paralysed, looking on the hellhound in fear. Only Harry gathered his wits and remembered he had brought the flute with him. He pulled it out and began playing the first thing that came to his mind, something out of the videogames that he and his father loved to play sometimes after work. It worked and Fluffy went to sleep again. He unsurely stopped playing and turned to the rest of them.

“Who's going down next?” he asked.

“I think I've got an idea,” Susan told them. To Hermione, Susan said, “Can you make the doorways bigger? Here, and leading out to the Main Castle?”

Hermione nodded, looking at her friend rather queerly. She waved her wand at the door. It widened to be as wide as Fluffy was. While they occupied with Susan's request, Malfoy leapt down into the room below.

“Can you play?” asked Harry.

“Better than you,” Susan replied.

Harry handed the flute to Susan. Susan began to play just for the sake of making sounds. Remarkably, the dog still fell into a stupour, dozing again just after it began to stir awake.

Susan stopped just long enough to say to them, “Both of you, get down there. Stop Snape from getting the Stone.”

“You're coming right after us, aren't you?” asked Harry.

“Both of you get going,” she told them. “I'll be fine.”

Hermione sat down at the edge of the trapdoor and dropped down into the room below, leaving Harry and Susan stood alone. Harry didn't want to leave his friend behind.

“This dog will kill you, Susan,” Harry pleaded. “You've got to come with us.”

“Let me show you what I'm going to do,” Susan told him. She had stopped playing the haphazard style she had used with the flute. Fluffy awakened, getting on its four feet. The dog glared at the girl that stopped playing what it had thought of as music and growled angrily, baring its three sets of teeth. Susan stood her ground, not wavering in the slightest.

“Sit!” she cried sharply. The dog looked at her queerly, like it almost understood what the girl had said to him.

“Fluffy, sit!” she repeated. Fluffy finally obeyed her command and planted himself on his haunches.

“Lie down,” she commanded. The hellhound unsurely lay itself before her, all six of its eyes looking up at her like the dog had wronged.

“Roll over,” Susan told the dog. Fluffy turned onto its side, exposing its belly to her. Susan stepped up to the dog, and she did the last thing Harry expected her to do. “Good dog!” she cried excitedly, scratching its belly. The dog growled in deep satisfaction.

“Who's a good dog?” Susan chanted. “Who's a good dog?”

“What are you doing?” asked Harry, bewildered at the turn of events.

She leapt back, only addressing the dog. “Wanna play?” Fluffy sat up, all three heads eager to do so. She held the flute in front of her. “Look! I got a stick!”

The dog leaned forward in anticipation. Its tail began wagging in great eagerness.

“You want the stick?” she cried. Fluffy yapped in what they could only assume was the affirmative. Susan threw the flute down the hall. The dog barreled through the door after the flute. Susan just barely dove out of the way.

“I'll keep Fluffy occupied,” Susan told Harry. “With Fluffy and Peeves causing havoc, the teachers will have their hands full and it should keep them off your backs long enough for you to get it.”

“Susan, you have to come with us,” Harry replied.

“Get the Stone,” she said, running after the hellhound, leaving him in a state of worry, both for his friend who ran off and for those who waited for him below. With nothing to do but follow her advice, Harry fell through the trapdoor. He couldn't see any end in sight, only darkness rushing past him, until he hit something soft and felt himself being let down gently, like a mother setting her baby to rest, onto the hard stone. He scrambled to his feet and looked around, finding Hermione bent over Malfoy while the boy winced in pain. Ron looked down on the boy with a mixture of satisfaction and worry.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Malfoy broke his ankle,” Hermione told him.

“What?” Harry cried. “How?”

“Someone mucked about with that Cushioning Charm,” Malfoy said. “When I came down, I went straight through it and hit the floor. It worked perfectly for Granger and Weasley, but not for me.”

“ _Ferula_ ,” Hermione intoned. A crude splint wrapped itself around his ankle. Malfoy gave a short cry as it bound him.

“Well, he's not going anywhere,” said Ron.

“We can't just leave him behind,” Harry replied.

“He can barely stand on his ankle, Harry,” Hermione told him, “let alone walk on it.”

“They're right, Potter,” said Malfoy, finally involving himself in the conversation about him. “My ankle is broken. I can't go anywhere, unless you, Granger or Weasley want to carry me through whatever else there is. And we all know this ginger git wouldn't do it even if he had to.”

“Agreed,” said Ron, rather pointedly.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Harry saw another hallway leading onward. He could see some faint detail of a door at the other end.

“Is that the only way?” asked Harry, pointing down the dark hallway.

“There are no other passages around,” Hermione said, getting to her feet.

There was something unsettling about the passage, almost as if something lurked inside it.

“We'll be back, Malfoy,” Harry told the Slytherin boy.

“Oh, I'll be waiting with bated breath,” Malfoy replied with the strongest sarcasm he could muster. “Get going.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione began their walk forward down the dark passage. The air felt humid and stuffy. Looking at the walls, it seemed as though something were moving along it. As Harry cast a Lumos with his wand, he saw that the passage was lined with creeping vines. A scream from behind them turned their heads, as a vine ensnared Ron and pulled him in.

“It's Devil's Snare!” Hermione cried, before other tendrils captured her and Harry, pulling him back.

“What a comfort!” yelled Ron. “So glad we know what it is!”

Harry fought to break free, but the tendrils tightened their hold, pulling him in even more.

“Hermione, do something!” Harry shouted.

“I'm trying to think,” she told him, trying to calm herself down.

“Think faster!” Ron choked.

A vine tightened even more around Harry's wrist.

“Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare,” Hermione muttered to herself. “What did Professor Sprout say about it? Devil's Snare...it likes the damp and the dark!”

Another vine wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her in even more, and panicking her enough to lose her cool and drop her wand.

“That's pretty obvious,” Ron cried, adding, “It also likes STRANGLING US!”

“It won't like fire, then,” said Harry. “Start one!”

“I can't! I don't have any wood!” she cried.

“ARE YOU A WITCH OR AREN'T YOU?” Ron bellowed.

“ _Incendio!_ ” a voice cried from the other room. A fire burst to life in the middle of the passage. The plant emitted a high-pitched squeal as it shrank from the fire. Harry, Ron, and Hermione broke free and looked to see Malfoy with his wand pointed at the spot the fire started, leaning against the archway on his one good ankle.

“Get through before it gets you again!” Malfoy shouted, before he fell back down on the floor.

The three friends ran for the other door. Hermione scooped up her wand as she ran. Harry shoved the door open and they fell through into a heap before Harry kicked the door shut. They got to to their feet and brushed themselves off.

“Lucky Harry keeps a cool head in times like those,” said Hermione, catching her breath.

“We're just lucky Malfoy was still able to help us,” said Harry.

“Never say those words again,” Ron growled, slapping Harry in the shoulder.

A chiming, jingling sound caught their attention. They couldn't see where it was coming from. There was nothing in front of them or behind them. When they looked up, they saw multiple objects floating above them, swirling in a clockwise direction.

“What are those?” Ron asked. “Birds?”

“They're not birds,” said Harry, still uncertain of what he was looking at. It was Hermione that saw what they were first.

“They're keys!” she cried. Indeed, Harry saw she was right. There were hundreds of slender gold and silver keys enchanted with wings—some with feathers as bright as jewels, others with lacy insect's wings—fluttering about the space above them. As he took in more of his surroundings, he saw only one other door than the one they came through, on a ledge about thirty feet above them.

“Great,” said Ron, when he saw it. “How do we get up there?”

Under the door, at their level, was a rack on which were set four broomsticks with one space empty.

Harry went up to the rack, took a broomstick in one hand, and, looking up at the keys, said, “This feels too easy.”

“What, fly up and catch a key?” Ron asked. “Seems simple enough, especially for the youngest Seeker in a century.”

He brushed off the compliment, focusing only on the cloud of flying metal above him. “Take one of the other broomsticks, fly to the door up there, and tell me what kind of key I should look for,” Harry told his friends.

Ron did as he was asked. Hermione, with visible uneasiness, sat behind him as he flew them up to the second door. When they landed, Hermione called down to him. “It looks like it should be made of wrought iron, slightly rusted.”

“Both of you stay put while I get it,” he told them.

Harry straddled the broomstick and kicked off the ground. As he flew closer to the keys, it seemed as though they sensed his presence. Once he got within a few feet, they increased speed and flew about in so many different directions. Harry flew headlong into the flurry of metal, keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of sorts with the flying keys. He dodged and weaved about the room, looking in every direction. It was difficult with it being in such a confined space and not outdoors on a pitch. A few keys scratched him here and there, but he kept manoeuvering as best he could.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a black, wrought iron key speckled with rust, with a crumpled wing as if someone had pinned it down before. Harry shot after it, and the keys followed in a swarm. He flew about, trying to follow the iron key and evade the others. Finally, he got it, and flew back to Ron and Hermione. He threw the key to them, shouting, “Open it!” before having to fly away from the metal swarm behind him. He flew up nearly to the ceiling, before doubling back, and flying down, straight through the pursuing keys. They flew straight at him, and when he emerged, he saw one lens of his glasses was cracked from an errant key. He flew to the door and sailed through it, coming to a skidding halt as he landed just beyond his friends. Hermione slammed it shut and Harry let the broomstick fall to the floor.

“You all right?” asked Ron, coming up to him.

“I am,” said Harry, taking off his glasses. “My glasses aren't.”

Hermione took them and, with a tap of her wand, said, “ _Reparo_.” The lens mended itself and she handed the glasses back to her brother with a smirk.

“Thanks,” he told her. “Let's get going.”

They moved onward, through the dark passage until the entered a moonlit room set with a giant stone dais with steps carved along all four sides and ramps at the ends. Torchlight illuminated the entire room even more as they entered, while moonlight still crept in from above. The walls to the left and right were lined with two types of statues in alcoves. They all wore enameled armour; one side had theirs decorated in scarlet and gold, the others in black and purple. They all had no faces and appeared to be battered in certain ways. As they walked onto the dais, he looked down and saw the floor was a checkered grid of polished black and white marble.

There was something familiar about the statues and the floor on which they stood. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but it all seemed so familiar and just as foreboding.

“What are all these statues?” Harry asked.

“I don't know,” Hermione answered.

“I do,” said Ron, as recognition crept across his face.

“What are they?” Harry asked Ron.

Before he could answer, a rumble resounded through the room as the statues moved from the alcoves and marched onto the dais. They stood in the centre of the floor, watching in bewilderment as both sets of statues lined themselves up in two ranks of eight. When the statues did a right-face, the children instantly saw why they were so familiar. Lined in the first rank of scarlet and gold statues were eight foot-soldiers armed with spears. Behind them were two square towers dotted with murder-holes and crested with crenelated parapets; two swordsmen on horseback; two holy men wielding crosiers; and two sovereigns, a man and a woman, both armed with swords.

They weren't just statues. They were chessmen.

“We might have to play across,” said Ron without preamble.

Harry tested that theory, walking up to the scarlet and gold chessmen that stood in their way forward. Once Harry came close enough to them, all of the pawns blocked his path with their spears. When he backed off, the pawns returned their spears back to their original positions.

“Right,” Harry replied. “You're in charge, Ron.”

“Harry!” Hermione cried. Before she could speak against the decision, Harry stopped her.

“Ron is the best chess player of all of us,” he told her. “If anyone can beat this challenge, it's him.”

Hermione looked on the chessmen blocking the door, thinking she wouldn't even know how to move ahead. Sullenly, she asked Ron, “What do we do?”

“Once we get into position, the white side will move first,” Ron told them. “Harry, take the place of the queen-side bishop. Hermione, you replace the queen-side castle. I'll be the knight on the king's side. Just move where I tell you to and we should get through this all right.”

With that, the three children took their places. The chessmen walked back to their respective alcoves. Once both sides were ready, a scarlet and gold pawn moved forward two spaces. From there, Ron commanded them to move as he saw fit. None of the black pieces spoke back or offered their opinions like his other chess set did, but it didn't matter. Ron was focused entirely on the game, a life-size battle for supremacy of the board.

The game was just as brutal as an ordinary wizard's chess match, but on a much grander scale. Pawns speared their conquered foes and dragged them off the board, before standing ready for the next move. The bishops would beat the other pieces to a million shards with their crosiers, before using the crosiers to sweep the space clean, then crossing themselves and the space they claimed. Knights lopped the heads of their enemies from atop their steeds, who then grabbed the debris with their mouths and flung them into the walls, whinnying in triumph. Legions of soldiers would flood from the base of the castles like a horde of angry ants, lift their victim off their space, and heave them off the board. The Queen and King were especially vicious. The King held what resembled a gladius and, when confronted by another piece within its area of movement, struck the opposing party with a flurry of strikes that very quickly dazed them, before placing a kick in the torso that sent them rocketing into the wall behind them. The Queen wielded what looked like a claymore and swung it with such ferocity that it shattered its foes into a million pieces on the first blow. Whatever was left standing, the Queen kicked off the board.

Before they ever knew it, it finally came to the end game. Ron had taken as many pieces as the Gryffindor side had. There were a few moves open to him, but only one way would get them to move onward. As Harry looked about the board, he saw what Ron had in mind, and he couldn't believe it was about to happen.

“Ron, you idiot!” Harry cried. “Why would you set it up like this?”

“What's going on?” asked Hermione.

“I set it up so I'd sacrificed myself,” explained Ron.

“No, you can't,” Hermione cried.

“You and Harry stand a better chance of getting the Stone by yourselves after this match is done. Harry, once I make my next move, you can move three spaces to end this. Don't do anything else.”

“But, Ron—”

It was too late. Ron had already called out the move. His piece shifted into position. The Gryffindor Queen followed. She released one hand from her sword and swatted Ron off the horse with a loud smack that they felt even across the room. Hermione screamed as Ron flew off. The Queen took her sword and cleaved the horse in two, kicking the remnants off the board before claiming the space as her own.

Harry and Hermione stood paralysed at the sight they'd witnessed. A life-sized chessman had pummeled one of their best friends out of a chess match. They wanted to run and help him. Leaving their spaces, though, would undo what he set up. Mustering his courage, Harry moved the three spaces Ron had told him to. Once he reached his position, Harry cried, “Checkmate!”

The remaining chessmen quickly left the board and went back to their alcoves, save for the Gryffindor King. Even the destroyed chessmen reassembled themselves after being pulverised. One or two of them muttered to their opponents things like “Good match” and “Same time next week?” Hermione stood in fright as the King slid across the board, well outside of its allotted area, to come to Harry. It unsheathed its sword and held it out for Harry to take, which Harry did. The King took off its crown, a scarlet-enameled brass circlet decorated with two rampant lions back-to-back, and held it out to him. He took it as well. The King bowed to Harry and slid back to join the other chessmen, with a hand pointing at the wall, which was solid except for two slots.

After they checked on Ron, who was out cold but still breathing, Harry and Hermione went up to the wall, scrutinising it with a meticulous bent. The smaller slot was slender and vertical while the other was horizontal and concave.

“Maybe put the crown in there first,” Hermione suggested, pointing at the bigger slot. Harry did as she advised. He did it so the ornamentation pointed downward. The crown locked into place. Harry took the sword and shoved the blade into the smaller slot, all the way to the hilt. A rumble followed. Seams appeared in the wall, separating the crown into two halves. Harry pulled one half and a door opened. Hermione slipped through and Harry followed.

The door closed behind them, leaving them in a dark room with a foul stench. Flames lit from sconces on the wall as the entered. They heard some sort of whimpering. Their eyes fell upon the Defence professor sitting on the squalid floor, clutching his knees to his chest, rocking back on forth. Harry and Hermione ran to him. The moment Hermione lay her hand upon him, he turned with a start, looking at her with fright, as if she were something far worse than what she was.

“Professor, how did you get in here?” asked Hermione.

“He-he-he forced m-m-me in here,” Quirrell stammered. “T-t-t-took me with him t-t-to t-tell him how to g-g-get past my t-t-trap.”

“Who did?” asked Harry.

The professor said, “I n-n-never s-saw his f-face. One m-m-minute I'm in my o-office, the n-n-next he g-g-grabbed me and t-t-took me d-d-down here. He s-s-said he'd h-h-hurt the s-students if I d-d-d-didn't c-cooperate—”

Harry cut off Quirrell's explanation when he asked, “What is that?” asked Harry, walking around them, looking at a giant heap in the middle of the room.

A troll, even larger than the one he faced on Halloween, lay lifeless in the middle of the room. It had wielded an even larger club, but it was dead now. Something impaled it, a giant spear that jutted from the great beast's chest. The weapon had pierced its chest going straight out its back. The piercing end had snapped off upon the beast's fall. Blood leaked out of its chest and back, nearly as black as crude oil. Its blood gathered in a puddle around the body and continued to spread across the floor. Harry looked about the room to figure out where the spear had come from, but there was nothing to show its origins.

“I-i-it was t-t-terrible,” the professor stammered. “W-w-when w-w-w-we got in here, the m-m-moment the troll ch-charged, h-h-he c-c-conjured that-that s-s-spear, and...” Quirrell didn't finish his sentence. He just trailed off and stared vacantly at nothing.

Two sides of the room were lined with iron gates, five levels of ten gates each side. Each were wrought-iron and locked shut.

“What are in the cages?” Harry asked his sister and the professor.

“N-nothing,” said Quirrell. “I o-o-o-only put the t-t-t-troll in here.”

“You're sure you didn't bring anything else in here?” Hermione asked the professor.

“The t-t-t-troll is the e-easiest thing I-I could c-c-c-control,” Quirrell told her.

“Why kill the troll if it's a danger all by itself?” Harry asked no one in particular.

“It's s-s-so m-m-m-much...blood,” Quirell stuttered to no one.

A series of metallic clanks came from above. They descended, growing louder as they neared the floor. Quirrell and Hermione scrambled to their feet, looking about the room in panic. Each gate swung open with a creaking groan. Growls sounded from each alcove that sent shivers down their spines. They glanced around themselves and saw eyes lurking in the darkness of the recesses. Out of them lurched small creatures, about four and a half feet tall, with green skin and red toques atop their heads that had faded to a dark shade of rusty red. In their gnarled, clawed hands, each wielded a cudgel made of a long bone of some sort embedded with rusty nails and other sharp objects. Every one of them glared at the wizards in the room.

“Are those things what I think they are?” Harry asked, fear growing within him.

“They're Red Caps,” Hermione answered. “Goblin-like creatures that kill any witch or wizard that might wander into their dwellings.”

“B-b-b-but, R-r-r-red Caps l-l-live in dun-dungeons and old b-b-battlefieds,” Quirrell said, as if what he said would make a difference.

“Or wherever blood has been shed,” Hermione added, gesturing to the troll that bled all over the room's floor.

A horrible thought entered their minds at once. Hermione was the one to say it aloud.

“They're going to claim this room as their territory.”

“They can have it,” Harry replied. “Get to the door.”

Harry, Hermione and Quirrell backed away from the troll and moved toward the door to the next room. Harry kicked a piece of shattered stone as he took a step backward. At that sound, one of the Red Caps leapt to the ground and let out a shrill cry, beating its cudgel against the floor. The creature marched up to the troll, took off its toque and soaked it in the dead beast's blood. It placed the toque back on its head. The blood trickled down its face as it bore its sharp teeth at the wizards it was ready to kill. The Red Cap let out a snarling cry again. Several more jumped to the ground, ready to join their comrade.

“Run!” Harry cried.

Harry, Hermione and Quirrell got to the door. Harry was about to pull it open when the Red Caps roared together and charged them. Quirrell cast some spells at them, but they were so weak that the Red Caps swatted them away with their clubs. Harry shook at the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. He slammed his shoulder into the door with no effect. The Red Caps were almost on top of them when Hermione conjured another of her bluebell flames and held it before the rampaging mob of creatures. They all skidded to a halt and stared in awestruck wonder at the flame Hermione held before them. She threw the flame onto the ground and it spread into a wall of bright blue fire that scared the Red Caps back. A few approached it with trepidation, testing to see whether or not it would harm them. They quickly jumped back for fear of getting burned and beat the floor with their cudgels.

Harry shoved the door open. He fell through, followed behind by Quirrell and Hermione. Hermione shut the door behind her and locked it for good measure. The Red Caps slammed into it, roaring in frustration, beating it with their clubs in want of breaking through.

“How did you know the fire would keep them away?” Harry asked her.

“I didn't,” she said, walking ahead of them.

“Where did those things come from?” Harry asked the professor. “You didn't even suggest something like that to Dumbledore?”

“N-n-n-never,” Quirrell answered. “I c-c-couldn't con-control them if I d-d-did.”

“He must have put them in when you weren't looking, maybe to catch whoever tried to come down here off-guard,” Harry suggested.

“W-w-why would he d-d-do that?” asked Quirrell.

“We can play guessing games all we like,” Hermione told them. “Let's just keep moving.”

They came to a circular room. A table stood to their left, on which sat twelve bottles of varying sizes, with an empty glass goblet to the side. Once all three of them stood in the room, flames burst up behind them. They saw black flames rising from the floor, blocking their path back to the Stone. Quirrell held out a hand to the fire and pulled it back with a yelp. The flames were real.

More fire erupted before the door leading back to the main castle. These flames, unlike the others, were purple. Harry didn't need to test the flames like Quirrell had done with the others to know they were real.

Hermione went over to the table with the bottles. Resting in front of the bottles was a roll of parchment, tied with a green and silver ribbon and sealed with green sealing wax. Hermione broke it open and unfurled it. She read aloud:

 

 _“Danger lies before you, as it does behind._  
_Two groups here will help you, and chill the fires in kind._  
_Those two groups, when blended right, will act as guides for you,  
_ _The others shall do nothing, for the flames let nothing through._

 _One group among us twelve will move you onward more,_  
_The next pair will send you back to perils faced before._  
_Three of us hold in our depths the finest nettle wine,  
_ _The last of us are killers, standing ready for our time._

 _It is your task to mix a potion for either way you'll go,  
_ _We also offer you these clues, which will be good to know._

 _First, the poisons in our ranks are truly not your friends,  
_ _To your luck, you shall not find them standing at the ends._

 _Second, you see dwarfs and giants standing in this dozen,  
_ _But, like the creatures in real life, neither one are cousins._

 _Third, the bottles in this group with more than just one side  
_ _Will not at all advance you, nor will your health abide._

 _Fourth, matching glass to like-hued blaze won't extend your path,  
_ _Though purple honours both its roots once you do the math._

 _Last, the way unto the Lapis is barred by flames of black,  
_ _Remember now that treasure's lives and they'll not hold you back.”_

 

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. “Logic,” she said to herself, most impressed. “That's bloody clever. Not many wizards have it. They'd be stuck here for ages.”

“B-b-but, so w-will we,” Quirrell stammered. “W-won't we?”

“Of course not. This puzzle tells us everything we need to know about the bottles on this table and how to move forward to the Stone and back out again.”

“So, what will get us forward?” Harry asked her.

Hermione read the clues again and reread them over and over until she was certain she had the answer. She explained, “We have twelve bottles here. Three have nettle wine, and another two of them together will get us through the purple flames, back to the castle. The bottles that contain poison have more than one side. We can't blend the contents of large and small bottles. A red bottle and a blue bottle will get us through the purple flames, and then—”

She trailed off, gazing at the puzzle again. Harry glanced at it over her shoulder.

“'That treasure's lives'?'” she cried in disbelief, almost kicking herself. “What is he playing at?”

“Maybe you read it wrong,” Harry said, taking the parchment and reading it himself. Something bugged him about the clue as well. He asked her, “Do the math again.”

“What do you mean?” she shouted in exasperation, cutting him off.

“The number of bottles,” he told her. “Two to go back the way we came and what else?”

She reread the parchment and answered, “Three have nettle wine. It doesn't say how many poisons there are or how many it takes to get through the black fire.”

“How many does that add up to?”

“Five, leaving us seven bottles to work with. If there were something that told us how many were in that group to move forward, or how many poisons there really are, I could solve this.”

“What did the last line of it all say?”

“'Remember now that treasure's lives and they won't hold you back,'” she recited.

“How can the Philosopher's Stone have lives, though?” Harry asked aloud. “You make it through alchemy. It isn't a living thing.”

It soon dawned on her what he had just said. “Yes, it is! An alchemist regards alchemy as life itself. To them, everything is a living thing, especially the Philosopher's Stone. Of course! The lives in the riddle are the stages of the Great Work, when the Stone turns to black, white, yellow, and red.”

“Four colours,” Harry said aloud. “Four bottles.”

“Meaning that the last three are poisons,” she said in triumph.

Hermione gazed at the two rows of bottles. At the back of the right end, she saw a small clear bottle of a potion as black as coal. She found one filled with a milky white potion second to the left. She also took a bottle of bright yellow potion from the back. Looking over the bottles once more, she saw a clear bottle the same size as the rest full of a potion as red as blood in front at the right.

She brought those bottles forward for both of them to see. “These are the ones to send you through the black fire,” she said with confidence to Harry.

“Which ones would get you through the purple fire?” he asked her.

Hermione brought forward a hexagonal blue bottle from the very left of the first row and a spherical red one right at the front.

“Hang on, you said—” Harry began, before Hermione replied.

“First clue, it says poisons aren't on the ends. Plus, it's sending us back, not forward.”

“You're sure about this?” he asked her.

“Definitely,” she answered.

Harry opened the red and blue bottles and emptied them in the goblet. The potions made a blend of a dark green potion. He passed that to Hermione.

“The two of you get back to Ron and Malfoy,” he told her. “Get them out of here, get yourselves to safety, and send help.”

Hermione was agape with shock. “Harry, no,” Hermione said. “I'm not leaving you alone.”

“I have to face him alone. There can't be anyone else with me.”

“But, Harry—”

“I survived him trying to kill me once,” he told her. He added much more confidently, “I can survive facing him again.”

Hermione grew teary-eyed at her brother's statement. She threw her arms around her brother and held him tightly, frightened he might try to break away and go further down the corridor. He returned the hug just as strongly and warmly, not wanting to break away but knowing he would have to.

“You're a better wizard than me,” she said, muffled into his shoulder.

“What are you talking about? You're the one that can do more amazing things.”

“I'm just books and cleverness, Harry. You, you're the braver of the two of us. You can't go alone. You shouldn't.”

“H-he won't be,” Quirrell replied, putting on a display of unsteady bravery. He spoke again without a stutter. “I'll take care of him.”

The brother and sister were shocked by their professor's sudden resolve, but more impressed than anything.

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, to which Quirrell gave a solemn nod. “But, she needs your help getting out, more than I do.”

“Harry—”

“I s-s-said I'd c-come w-with you,” Quirrell said. “I ought t-t-to be g-going w-with you.”

“Please, don't argue with me,” he said, passing the goblet to the Defence professor. “Drink up.”

Quirrell took the goblet and gave Harry a mock toast before downing the potion in one. “Good luck, M-Mister Potter.”

When Harry turned back to the table, he saw the bottles had refilled themselves. He mixed the potion for the purple flames again and passed the goblet to Hermione.

“Please, drink it,” he asked her.

Hermione did so, looking at him as if to plead with him to reconsider and wincing slightly as she swallowed the concoction, before she set the goblet back on the table.

“Was it poison?” asked Harry.

“No, it's just really cold,” she answered. “Harry, come back to us.”

“I'll be back. Now go, before the potion wears off.”

Hermione nodded, hugging her brother one last time before she and the professor dashed through the purple fire back to help Ron and Malfoy out of the corridor. Hermione threw another flame through the door which scared off some of the Red Caps. Once they stepped through, the Red Caps overtook Quirrell and the door slammed itself shut behind them. Harry rushed forward on impulse, but the intense heat from the purple flames kept him at bay.

He was alone now. There was nothing between him and Voldemort now but flames and fear.

Harry mixed the black, white, yellow, and red potions in the goblet. When he set the bottles back on the table, they refilled themselves almost instantaneously.

He downed the new mixture in one, shuddering at the rush of cold sensations washing over him, like an ice cream headache grown tenfold stronger, but not even half as painful. He turned to the black flames, took a deep breath, and walked in. The flames licked at his body, but he felt only warmth. With every step Harry took through the fire, he felt himself growing braver and stronger, and more scared than he ever thought he could be.

 


	20. Tricks with Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Twenty  
**Tricks with Mirrors**

 

Draco Malfoy sat in the dark pit, looking in worry at the hall with the Devil's Snare, then up at the trapdoor above. Was he feeling worried about them? Why? Why even care about them? Some blood traitor, Potter of all people, and his showoff Mudblood—

He chided himself. _Stop that, Draco. She might not be pure blood, but there's no denying she's damn good._ Oh Morgaine, save him. He wished he didn't have to hear what his father had to say about him working alongside people like Weasley and Granger. The old man would never let him live it down.

At the end of the hallway, a bright blue light grew even brighter. The Devil's Snare shrank away in fear of it. Hermione walked out of the hall with the Devil's Snare, a bluebell flame held in her palm to light the way while Ron ambled alongside her, groggy from some injury he must have gotten after that little incident with the plants, using her as support with his arm draped over her shoulder.

“I'll never play chess against a life-size set ever again,” Ron said aloud.

“You were really good at it,” Hermione told him. “We wouldn't have gotten as far as we did without you.”

She put out the flame and sat down beside Ron and checked his head once more. He brushed her hands away in a slightly playful manner.

“I'm okay, Hermione,” he told her.

“I'm sure you are,” she responded. “I just wanted to double-check your head. I could hear the Queen hit you clear across the room.”

“It's not that bad,” said Ron. “Nothing worse than anything I got from my brothers.”

“Your brothers aren't made of stone and metal, though.”

“Charlie, Fred and George might be,” he quipped. Hermione giggled a little.

“Is your ankle any worse, Malfoy?” she asked, finally taking notice of him.

“It's the same as before,” he told her. “They haven't got a hospital wing down here, if you haven't noticed.”

“You're sure you're okay?” she asked.

“I'm okay,” asked Malfoy, trying to get up by sliding upward against a wall. “How far in did you get? Where's Potter? Wasn't he with you?”

It had been bothering her all the while when she led Ron out of the corridor. Yet she willed herself to focus on helping Ron and Malfoy rather than stay alongside Harry. Even after she saw the Red Caps overtaking Quirrell, that was her only goal. So, she answered, “Harry and I got to Snape's challenge and solved it before he sent me back to help you get out. He stayed and went on ahead.”

“Aren't you the least bit worried he might get injured or worse?” asked Malfoy. “Not that I care, but—”

“Of course I am. He's about to go up against a man of immense power, and I left him all alone.”

“You did what he asked you to do,” said Ron, “help the rest of us get out of this place and get help.”

“But, I left my brother behind,” she said. He's my family, my only brother. I don't have any siblings like you do. I only have him.”

“Harry is going to be okay,” Ron assured her, pulling her into a hug. “He's the Boy Who Lived.”

“He could die,” she whispered.

“No, he won't,” said Malfoy, tiring of her maudlin pessimism. “Potter will get out of this sooner than Filch would lavish us with loving kisses.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Hermione asked, almost indignantly.

“Because the noble idiot is like any other Gryffindor I've ever met,” he told her. “He's too stubborn to die.”

Hermione said nothing. Ron's optimism wasn't unfounded, but she found it unsettling that Malfoy could just think that his rival in school could get through this whole series of events and live to tell about it. To her surprise, it didn't assuage her doubt, but it made her a little more confident that her brother would come out of all this all right, relatively speaking.

“So, how do we get out of here?” asked Malfoy. “I know you're smart, Granger, but Weasley took a blow to the head and I'm not good enough to Levitate us up that high. Are you?”

“No,” she replied. “I'm not sure that Susan is back either. There has to be a way to get back up there.”

“Who is down there?” a voice shouted down to them.

Hermione got up and stood right below the trapdoor's opening.

“Who is up there?” she called back.

“I asked first,” the voice answered. There was something familiar about the voice, but Hermione couldn't place it.

She shouted, “There are three of us down here. Ron took a bad blow to the head.”

“What are you telling him my name for?” Ron cried.

“Do you want to get up there or not?” she told him. To the voice, she added, “And Malfoy broke his ankle in the fall.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

A stretcher appeared out of thin air.

“Tell one of them to climb on,” the voice commanded. Hermione prodded Ron to get on the stretcher, though he was unwilling to show he was still hurting.

“I'd feel better if you didn't overexert yourself, Ron,” she told him.

Ron assented, sitting himself on the first stretcher. Whoever was above them raised it up through the trapdoor.

Once he was through, Hermione helped Malfoy get on his good foot and helped him hop onto the stretcher when it came back down. Once he went up, a rope ladder unfurled through the trapdoor to where she stood. Hermione started climbing to the room that held Fluffy, nervously scaling each rung as the ladder swayed and trembled under her weight. When she got up to the trapdoor, she poked her head through to see a figure dressed in black kneeling beside Ron, wrapping his head with gauze, a look of outright shock all across his face. Malfoy's ankle had been bound in a better splint than she had made for him. Somehow, the harp had begun playing again, this time to the tune of what sounded like a Beatles song. “For No One,” if she recalled correctly. Ron and Malfoy sat beside Fluffy, who had curled up in the corner and dozed, tuckered out and more than content from its frolicking about the school and grounds, no doubt. Sitting next to them was Susan, who gazed on the figure in black with what seemed to be confusion and anger.

“What are you doing back here?” Hermione asked Susan.

“He caught me a few minutes ago,” Susan told her. “I couldn't believe he was still out here.”

“What? Who?” Hermione said, louder than she intended.

When the figure looked over at her with his cold black eyes and met her gaze, a gasp flew from her lips.

Standing up to his full height, glowering at the three of them, was Professor Snape. He pulled Hermione out of the trapdoor all the way and shoved her to the ground beside Ron and Susan. She stood back up, not taking her eyes off him for an instant.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is?” yelled the professor. “You're all lucky that dog didn't bite off _any of your heads_.”

“He was asleep when we came in,” said Ron.

“Silence, Weasley!” shouted Snape. Ron shut up, but not without showing he was displeased with doing as he was told.

“And you, Malfoy, what on earth possessed you to risk so many more points than you've already lost?”

“He blackmailed us into letting him help us,” said Hermione.

“Blackmail is a gross exaggeration,” he drawled.

“Silence, both of you!” the Potions Master bellowed. They quieted themselves.

“Evidently, you all have some brilliant story concocted to save your hides,” said Snape. “So, by all means, tell me: What were you doing down there?”

“What are you doing out here?” Susan asked him defiantly.

“I am a teacher at this school, Miss Bones. As such, one of my responsibilities is _to punish rule-breaking students_ such as yourself and your friends, and Malfoy, if I must. I was patrolling for students out of bed, and it looks like I hit the mother lode. Just you wait until the Headmaster hears—” Snape paused, bewildered by something. He asked Susan, “What do you mean 'out here?' Where else would I have been? Down below, through the trapdoor?”

“That's what they thought, sir,” Malfoy admitted. He further explained, “When the five of us got here, that harp was enchanted to play itself. The dog was fast asleep and the trapdoor was wide open.”

Snape looked at the harp still playing itself to Snape's tune, then the dog, then the trapdoor. When he looked back at Hermione, she saw his face contorted in anger, but his eyes showed a look of deepest worry.

As Snape looked at all four children in the room, he growled, “Where is Potter?”

No one answered. Snape rounded on Hermione, pulling her up by the shoulders. “Your brother!” he cried in panicked desperation, shaking her as if to free her tongue. “The Boy Who Lived. Where is he? Is he still down there? Answer me!”

Hermione was about to answer when a voice called out. “Severus!”

Everyone looked to see Professor Dumbledore standing at the entrance, wearing maroon robes and windswept hair.

“What is going on here?” asked the Headmaster.

Snape addressed Dumbledore, grabbing Hermione by the arm and pulling her forward to stand in front of the Headmaster. “Tell him where your brother is.”

“Harry is still down below,” answered Hermione, breaking free of Snape's grip.

“How far in did you go?” asked Dumbledore, slightly less calm than he was before.

“We got to Professor Snape's challenge,” she told the Headmaster. “We solved it, then Harry sent me back to help Ron and Malfoy get out because they got hurt.”

Snape appeared offended that anyone, even Hermione of all people, could have possibly solved his challenge, but withheld any comment in light of the current situation.

“Is _he_ down there?” the Headmaster asked Snape.

What Dumbledore had said confused her. _Haven't we already established Harry is down there?_ Hermione thought to herself.

“Yes, sir,” Snape answered.

“You're certain of this?” asked Dumbledore, more fear growing in his voice.

“When they first arrived, the children found the trapdoor open and the dog asleep.”

To Snape, the Headmaster ordered, “Severus, take them to Madame Pomfrey with all due haste.”

Dumbledore ran up to the trapdoor and quickly dropped through it to the room below.

“Come along,” said Snape. Hermione helped Ron to his feet, while Susan begrudgingly helped Malfoy walk on his bad ankle. All of them looked back at the trapdoor one last time before being ushered out. Ron pulled Hermione sharply to the door, but she wouldn't budge.

“Ow!” Malfoy griped as he hobbled away. “Be careful, woman! I'm wounded!”

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” Susan muttered.

“Miss Granger,” she heard the Potions Master say in a much kinder voice, which truly sounded eerier than it should have. “The Headmaster would give his life before he would let any harm befall a student entrusted to him. It will do no good to wait here. Please, come along.”

“We already said Harry was down there,” Hermione said, finally coming to her senses. She asked Snape, “Who were you talking about after that?”

“You didn't encounter anyone else down below?” asked the Potions Master.

“We only ran into—” Hermione trailed off. Her eyes widened in horror as she realised she had been duped just as Harry had. “Oh, God!”

Snape squeezed his eyes shut in frustration as he saw just how stupid the smartest witch of her year could be.

*****HPG*****

Harry emerged from the black flames. Looking back, they occluded everything behind him. He saw no sign of Quirrell or of any part of Snape's challenge. He moved onward, walking carefully to a set of stairs, hoping to avoid making any noise that would alert Snape to his presence. He crept slowly, almost believing that these stone steps were exactly like the creaky stairs within his home in Greenwich.

As he descended the stairs further, Harry saw an empty room, surrounded by several large mirrors. To his greater shock he found there was no one there but him. How could that be? There was a harp enchanted to play itself. Someone messed with the Cushioning Charm below Fluffy's room. They used the key in Flitwick's challenge. The chess pieces were battered, as if someone had played a match before Harry and his friends reached the corridor. Someone even skewered a troll. _Someone_ came to get the Stone tonight. They came because Dumbledore left for London (or said he did). And if it wasn't Dumbledore behind everything, whoever was here most likely got him to go there for fake reasons so they wouldn't have to deal with the Headmaster when they left with the Stone.

Harry looked around in panic, but saw nothing except his own reflection. Who was after the Stone? _You were_ , the voice in his head answered. _You wanted it. You still do._

 _Fine, who else but_ me _would want the Stone?_ thought Harry. No sooner had he thought that when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned back to see a man walking to him. Descending the staircase, slowly, without any rush or trepidation but with the utmost confidence, was Quirrell.

The man's face was entirely different. Gone were the nervous tics and the self-effacing uncertainty. Replacing them were hard-set eyes that displayed nothing but contempt and greed, and a smirk that made anyone want to punch it right off the man's face.

“Professor, what are you doing here?” Harry cried, against his better judgment. “I told you to leave with Hermione.”

“Yes, you did,” Quirrell said smoothly, without even a hint of his well-known stutter. “Sadly, we have a schedule to keep, and we can no longer let this farce prevent us from completing it.”

The professor snapped his fingers. Thick ropes materialised out of the air and coiled around Harry. They tightened around him to the point that he could barely breathe. Harry lost his balance and fell onto his side.

He felt beside himself with confusion. This could not be true. It had to be Snape helping the Dark Lord, not this man. But, the truth stared back at him with a beguiling, conniving glare under a purple headdress. The man going after the Philosopher's Stone wasn't Snape. It wasn't Voldemort or Dumbledore either. It was the stammering dope in the stupid purple turban.

“ _You_! It was you all along!”

“Well, well, well, Potter,” said Quirrell. “We thought maybe you would find out sooner, even at Snape's little logic puzzle, but you really proved yourself to be a true Gryffindor. Focused only on the end goal. Perceptive only in the face of a great revelation. It's a shame, really. McGonagall always spoke of how bright you were.”

“You attacked her.”

“Guilty as charged,” Quirrell admitted, shrugging his shoulders as if it meant absolutely nothing. “Somehow, after our first failed attempt to get the Stone, Dumbledore heard that we wanted to get into Gringotts. To our great joy, he planned exactly what we wanted him to. Going after her was so much more practical than breaking into the vault, even if we were more than capable of infiltrating it and getting away without the goblins bringing their wrath down upon us. Unfortunately, she passed off the Stone to that oaf Hagrid before we had the chance to confront her. After the fight in Devon, we realised all too late she didn't have it. Hagrid was already back at the school.

“So, once we were back here, we needed to know what lay in store for us.”

“You let the troll loose on Halloween,” Harry growled in disgust.

“As a distraction, yes. It was meant to allow us enough time to see what obstacles had been set in place. Much to our dismay, Snape had enough of his wits about him to head us off. He succeeded, but did not walk away unharmed. It's a shame that mutt didn't take his leg off entirely.

“The one challenge we didn't expect to face was you. We should have known how much a threat you would be to our plans. We should have known the moment you bumped into us at the Leaky Cauldron.” Harry would have kicked for forgetting Quirrell was there that day, if he wasn't tied up. “To our shame, though, it was only after you defeated the troll that we truly saw you as a hindrance to our plans.”

“You jinxed my broom.”

Quirrell rolled his eyes at Harry's simple-minded deduction. “Isn't that obvious now? We suppose it may not have been before, with you focusing all your anger on Snape. Who can blame you for that, really? Snape always has the look about him like he is up to no good. Tall, dark and sinister, sweeping about the castle like some hideously overgrown bat. Next to him, who would ever suspect p-p-p-poor, st-st-st-stuttering P-Professor Q-Q-Quirrell?”

“You made everyone think it was him that sabotaged me.”

“And it worked quite well. Everyone knew what sort of hostility ran between the two of you. You disliked him, and he holds you in an even worse regard. Then, he did us the courtesy of cementing that perception by acting as referee in your next match. He needed to stay close by you to keep us from trying again what we had done before. But, with Dumbledore in the stands that day, we couldn't. It would have been foolish even to think of it.”

“Why does he hate me, anyway? It's not like I did anything to him.”

“He and your father were sworn enemies. Snape didn't just hate James Potter—no, he despised James with every fibre of his being. Nearly every encounter they had at school, they were fighting each other. That hatred carried over to their adult lives, up until James's death. And now, Snape has passed it onto you. True, he may loathe you as he did your father, but he couldn't let you die, not when he so faithfully served the Headmaster.”

Harry struggled against the ropes again, but they wouldn't loosen. They tightened even more than before. Harry felt more breath escaping his body, like he was in the grip of a giant snake.

“Yes, Dumbledore,” the traitorous man reminisced. “Hearing of your misgivings toward the Headmaster was a boon for us as well. Honestly, Potter, how could you possibly think the Headmaster was an evil bastard? Well, in time, we came to understand why. Not knowing how your parents truly died, being kept in the dark about your true parentage and your abilities, all this bloody secrecy throughout the year. After hearing all that, even we wouldn't trust him if he told us the sky was blue.

“So, we had to play on that as well. We did what we could to keep you thinking the Headmaster was after the Stone himself, even though he organised this pitiful gauntlet. Getting you to see the Mirror of Erised, returning your Cloak to you after you lost it. Even our ploy of putting Red Caps in the same room as our troll played to our advantage. Of course, building on your distrust wouldn't help us entirely. No, we needed to know how to get past the mutt and all the other teachers' contraptions as well.”

“So, you gave Hagrid the dragon egg.”

“Naturally,” Quirrell said. “You were getting too close. We knew that when you were done speaking to that horse-woman, you would know what we were after. We needed a distraction, something to take attention away from us and occupy your every waking thought. What better way than to give the gamekeeper a new pet? A pet that was illegal for any wizard to own?

“We won't bother you with the details of how we acquired it. They're ultimately irrelevant. The important thing is, a few bottles of wine and several hands of cards saw to it that Hagrid became the new father to a Norwegian Ridgeback. With that came the key to getting past that mongrel. When the dragon was born, you had to help him keep it secret and hidden. Not an easy task, given how unmanageable baby dragons can be, but you came through. Our plan worked, to our great surprise.

“You didn't bother us for a single moment, while we learned how to get past the Devil's Snare, the chessboard and Flitwick's Charms. We weren't about to persuade Snape or the Headmaster into helping us, so we had to lure you in here to solve his challenge. Good thing you brought your sister along, otherwise we might have been stuck back there all through the summer holidays. Now, all that's left, is to collect the Stone for ourselves.”

“'Ourselves?'” asked Harry, confounded by how the professor referred to himself. “What's all this 'we' stuff? It's only you that's after the Stone.”

“No, it's not just me,” explained Quirrell. “I am just the vessel for my master.”

“What, you mean he's in the school?” Harry asked, his worry and fear growing.

“Not just in the school, boy,” answered the professor. “He is here in the room with us right now.”

Quirrell turned away and looked upward to the ceiling. The pain in Harry's forehead shot through him in waves.

“Ever since that first Quidditch match, Snape has barely left me alone for a minute,” Quirrell explained. “He doesn't realise, or it might be that he does know and just doesn't want to accept that one horrible truth: I am not alone. I haven't been for the longest time. The Dark Lord lives, and he lives within me.

“I have been serving him ever since I found him, frail and lost, as I trekked through the forests of Albania, seeking a strength I had never known. He gave me that strength. So, I brought him back here to Britain. Ever since I pledged myself to his service, it has been...difficult.” A spasm of fear flitted across his face. “He is a great wizard and I am weak. I sometimes fail and my punishments are severe, but necessary. I have done so many terrible things to serve him: concealing his presence, committing crimes on his behalf, providing him sustenance...”

“You really think that killing unicorns will make you Voldemort's second-in-command?” Harry cried.

Quirrell turned back around, his eyes opened wide in fury. “Everything I have done has been for a greater purpose, boy!” Quirrell shouted back, anger laced in his every word. “That purpose is the return of the Dark Lord! I would kill a million of them if it meant that was the result!”

Quirrell spoke more reverently as he went on. “Before he rose to power, we were rife with corruption, ineptitude, and filth. He brought those failings under control, but without him, they have proliferated. With the Philosopher's Stone in hand, I will make the Elixir of Life and bestow him with a new body. Once he is reborn, he will rise to power once again and he will cleanse this society, bringing about the Wizards' true place in the world: themselves reigning above all others!”

The silence that followed was more than palpable. “But first,” he muttered, “I have to get it. It is somewhere in here.”

Harry looked around and got a surprise. Set against the wall before him was the Mirror of Erised. But, it wasn't just the one. There were six more just like it surrounding them, seven in all.

“Clever of Dumbledore,” Quirrell muttered. “Hiding the Stone this way. It must be within one of these mirrors. No matter, we will have it soon enough.”

Quirrell walked up to one of the mirrors gazing deeply into it. Quirrell walked from that mirror unsatisfied to another, gazing into it as deeply as he did the one before. Quirrell raced from the second Mirror to another. Disappointed once more, he ran to another. Not seeing what he wanted, he hurried to another and another. Once he made the full circuit and came to the last of the mirrors, he slammed his fists against it in frustration. The glass shook with the impact, but did not break. When he stared into it again, his face contorted in aggravation.

“WHICH ONE IS IT?” he bellowed to the ceiling. “HELP ME, MASTER!”

Harry didn't expect an answer, but one did come. It cut through the air and made Harry cringe like it had been nails on a chalkboard. “Use...the boy....”

Quirrell turned and glared at Harry. He snapped his fingers again. The ropes disappeared, freeing Harry, but only from themselves.

“Stand up,” Quirell ordered. He raised his hand and Harry rose to his feet, without having to rise by himself.

“Find us the true Mirror, boy,” the professor growled.

“What makes you think I want to?” Harry asked in defiance.

Quirrell chuckled. “Oh, we already know you don't want to, but we also know you want your sister to be alive when all this is over. If you defy us, she will perish.”

Harry wanted to sock him in the gut. Quirrell raised his hand again, as if he were clutching something in it. Harry floated to the professor, hovering so they looked each other in the eye.

“If you don't get the Stone in the next five minutes, we will fulfill that promise, along with extending it to your _friends_ ,” he rasped. Quirrell broke the spell and Harry fell to a heap on the floor. He got to his feet, glaring at the professor as he stood to his full height, even if it was more than a head shorter than Quirrell. The professor smirked at Harry.

“Time is fleeting, Potter,” he said silkily. “Get us the Stone. Now.”

Harry looked about the room. From a distance, each ornate golden-framed Mirror showed only his reflection, exhausted and ragged from his encounters before. He looked into the Mirror before him, gazing at his disheveled hair, his dirty face, his tired eyes behind his repaired glasses. Something to the right of his reflection caught his eye. Hanging on the wall behind him, between two of the larger Mirrors, was a hand mirror, silver with golden scrollwork inlay and the school's H escutcheon, exactly like the one Dumbledore had with him the last night he saw the Mirror.

What Dumbledore said that night echoed through his mind. _It's times like these that a man must glimpse into one mirror in order to understand another_. The real Mirror of Erised might be revealed in the smaller mirror. He could only try it out to be sure.

Harry turned around and walked over to that wall. He was about to take the hand mirror off the wall, when he thought of something. He had to stall for time. He had to distract Quirell as best he could until someone else—the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, even Professor Snape—got through the challenges to stop him. He took the smaller mirror off the wall and said to the professor, “No good can come of this, you know.”

“Plenty of good will come of bringing my master back,” Quirrell drawled. “More than you could ever imagine.”

Harry stepped to the centre of the room. He held the smaller mirror out in front of him.

“Too bad neither of us will be around to see it.”

“You might not be. I, on the other hand, will be thanked by my master when he returns to his true form.”

“That's not what I've seen.” Quirrell squinted in suspicion of what Harry had said. “Oh, you weren't there. At least, you weren't there when I saw what I saw. Firenze, the soothsayer for the centaurs, she showed me something she had seen. There was this man with two faces who was trying to get an orb that changed to four colours. It came out and when it turned red, the man took it in his own hands. It tore him apart, into two different men.”

“A prophecy soon to be fulfilled,” the professor chuckled.

He turned the mirror so he could peer over his shoulder at the Mirror right behind him, to the left of the passage back to Snape's challenge. In the reflection, he saw that the inscription wasn't reversed as it had been the last night he saw it. Harry looked back at that Mirror, and indeed the inscription was the same as Harry saw in the smaller one. He smiled with satisfaction while Quirrell watched with a mixture of shrewd contemplation and uneasy anticipation.

“The thing is, though,” Harry told him, “one of those men fell over dead while the other lived. Which means, there are two ways this all works out.”

Harry positioned himself to look back at the next Mirror, clockwise to the one he tried. He peered into the hand mirror to see the inscription for that Mirror of Erised. The inscription stayed the same just like the one before it.

“One, you give Voldemort—” Quirrell flinched at the mention of his master's name, “—his body back, but then you'll die as a result of it all.”

Harry did the same routine for the next Mirror and the one after that, each one bearing the same result as the two before them. Quirrell appeared more and more unsettled at the first possibility Harry spoke of.

“The other is that once you get the Stone and make the Elixir, you wind up living, but your master dies.”

Harry turned his back to the fifth of the Mirrors of Erised in the room and held the hand mirror out to gaze at the Mirror behind him. As he gazed into the hand mirror, he saw a familiar sight. The hand mirror showed the Mirror of Erised's inscription reversed as he saw it that night. There was the true Mirror of Erised.

“Are you sure you want that?” Harry asked.  "Either of those things?"

Quirrell was more unsure than he had been since he showed his true colours. Still, he stood by his original wants. “Get us the Stone,” he growled through clenched teeth.

Harry turned around to face it. He walked up to it. _Don't think about the Stone_ , he thought to himself. _Don't think about what you would do with it. Don't even think about holding it. Just think about your parents and how you wish they were beside you just like you did before. You can't let that turban-wrapped monster escape this place with the Stone. You can't let him bring Voldemort back. Think of your parents. Think of your parents._

Harry stepped up to the Mirror of Erised. What he saw threw him for a loop. His birth parents weren't looking down at him, nor was he looking at them. All Harry saw was his own reflection, clean and not harmed by any previous hardship he just went through. How was this possible? The Mirror showed what you wanted most in the world. Why wasn't it showing him parents now?

 _You don't want to see your parents, though_ , that voice inside his head told him. _You want to keep the Stone away from Voldemort and his lackey._

He closed his eyes and began thinking about so many other things he wanted badly. To win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor, a skateboard, tickets to see a pro Quidditch match at midfield, to get out of there alive.

As he opened his eyes once more, he still looked at his reflection. The reflection gazing back at him did not bear his stunned look of confusion. The Harry that stared back at him was calm, collected, smiling rakishly to boot, totally untroubled by everything that had happened before and was happening now. His reflection held his hand mirror up so the glass faced toward Harry. It gestured for Harry to do the same, and he sheepishly did so, facing the glass to the larger mirror. His reflection reached his hand through its mirror. Harry kept watching, shocked to see his mirror image practically reaching into its own chest. It rooted around a bit and pulled out a translucent red stone about the size of a man's heart. The way it was shaped made Harry think it was exactly that, but he knew better. That wasn't a heart; that was the Philosopher's Stone.

His reflection winked at Harry and slipped the Stone in Harry's pocket. Harry felt something heavy fall into his real pocket. The mirror he held fell from his hand, but he barely registered the sound of shattering glass as fear once more consumed him. The Philosopher's Stone was now his.

“What is it?” Quirrell asked impatiently, marching up to see what Harry saw. “What do you see?”

Harry stepped aside to give Quirrell a better look. As Harry stood aside, he answered, “Nothing. I don't see the Stone. I see myself. I just won the House Cup.”

He was about to slip away, but the high voice cried out, “The boy lies...”

Quirrell waved his hand and Harry felt himself pulled upward by his feet. He was dangling in midair, looking in fright at Quirrell's livid scowl.

“TELL ME THE TRUTH, BOY!” he raged. “WHAT DID THE MIRROR SHOW YOU? TELL ME OR I'LL KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!”

“Put...the boy...down...” the high voice commanded. Quirrell broke the new spell and Harry fell to the ground again. He scrambled away as quickly as he could, planted on his backside, staring back at the professor.

“Let me...speak to him...face-to-face....”

Quirrell took on a worried expression. “Master, you are not strong enough.”

“I...have...strength enough...for this...” the high voice hissed. “Do...as I ask....”

Quirrell relented and began undoing his turban. Harry wanted to flee more than anything. He wanted to put a thousand miles between himself and Quirrell, but something rooted him to the spot. He thought it might be more Devil's Snare, but he soon came to know he was afraid. Afraid of knowing what the turban hid. The purple cloth fell into a coiled heap as the professor unwrapped it more and more. Finally, the last of it fell to the ground. Quirrell looked on impassively. He turned slowly on his heel to reveal the thing Harry feared and least expected.

Sticking out from the back of Quirrell's head was another face, chalk white with eyes as red as garnets and slits for nostrils. The mouth that spoke hissed in a high register.

“Harry Potter....We meet...again....”

Harry's voice failed him. He willed himself to make a sound, to scream in fright and disgust, but his voice wouldn't obey. Instead, he could only speak the name that resounded through his mind as he saw the face that jutted from the professor's skull and haunted his dreams. “Voldemort...”

Quirrell's body shivered at he sound of his master's name, but the face grinned. “My name...is...music to my ears...” the Dark Lord husked in ragged, broken sentences. “Far too many...fear to speak it...and rightly so....”

The sight was beyond belief. Harry wanted to will himself to run away, to be gone from this place and leagues away from Quirrell and this face set in the back of the professor's head. His fear got the better of him though, and he stayed put where he was, still gaping in horror at the sight before him.

“Do forgive me...Potter....I'm not...looking my best....Such was the...consequence...when last we met....”

“You tried to kill me. You got what you deserved.”

“Yes....My greatest mistake...soon to be...rectified....For too long...I've lived...no...existed...as mist...and vapour....Nothing more...than...a mere _parasite_....I have form...only when I share...a body...with another....A kindness...Quirrell...has granted me....The unicorns' blood...he provided me...strengthened me...these past months....But...without the Elixir...I am _trapped_...in this... _wretched limbo_....That ends this night...once you...give me the Stone....”

“What makes you think I have it?” Harry asked, in an effort to appear steadfast.

“I know you do....The Mirror...of Erised...granted it to you...and slipped it...into your...pocket....”

Feeling flooded back into Harry's legs. He turned and ran for the entrance, but Voldemort headed him off. He walked in Quirrell's body, stepping backward with each footfall, walking toe to heel, not taking his eyes off Harry.

“Don't be a fool...” the Dark Lord hissed. “Join me....”

“No,” Harry shouted. “Never!”

“You have...great potential...a guile...most impressive....Trying...to get under...Quirrell's skin....It almost worked....I felt his resolve...crumble...with every word...you spoke...”

“I am still loyal to you, Master,” Quirrell cried.

“I'm sure you are...and I trust...you will fulfill...your duties...” the Shade asked his servant.

“To my last breath, if it ensures your return.”

“My faith in you...is restored....As for you, Potter...become my ally...and I will grant you...truly grant you...your heart's desire....I know...what you want most...”

“You're a liar,” Harry retorted, doubt and defiance edging each word he spoke.

The Shade cackled. “You're a brave one....I have always...valued bravery....Your parents had it...loads of it....Your father...put up...a good fight...before...I killed him...even without his wand....Your mother...You would have thought...a girl of her...parentage...would be so...craven....But, she gave her life...to protect yours....Who would have thought....You want your parents back...living and well....I know this....What better way...to bring them back...than for me...to teach you...to brew...the Elixir of Life...”

The offer was more than tempting. Harry reached for the Stone on impulse. He pulled it out of his pocket, its darkest and brightest parts both brought out by the torch light. He regarded it as he would a family heirloom, full of history, mystery and wonder, and to be treated with the utmost respect.

“Yes...you see....You hold raw power...in your very hands....All the hypocrites...of the world...they would spin...every yarn for you...about good and evil...when a different truth...prevails....There is no good...nor is there evil....There is only... _power._..and either...you take hold of it...or...you are too weak...to have it...

“Join me....Give me the Stone...and I promise...I will show you...how to harness...and refine your...power...”

Harry glanced back. He saw the true Mirror of Erised again. In the looking-glass, he saw his birth parents staring out at him. A mist crept over them, clouding what he once saw. When the mist cleared, it wasn't James and Lily gazing out at him.

It was Laurence and Jean, the parents he always knew and loved. Laurence looked on with a mixture of pride and love, dressed in his best dress blues. Jean looked on with the same emotions as her husband, dressed also in the uniform he always remembered her wearing, but also with a warmth that made Harry feel like she were right there. Standing between them was Hermione, dressed in her Ravenclaw uniform, smiling just as fondly as her parents and brushing back her bushy brown hair.

Harry knew now what Dumbledore tried to tell him that night he came across the Mirror of Erised. He already had what he desired most. And if he gave in now, Voldemort would have what he desired most as well. He pocketed the Stone, glaring at the face in the back of Quirrell's head.

“My parents are already alive,” Harry said. “You want your power back? Then, come at me and take it.”

“So be it...” the Dark Lord hissed, before he yelled, “SEIZE HIM!”

Quirrell spun around, grabbing Harry by the throat. Harry fought to break Quirrell's grip as it tightened around his throat. Pain surged through him until his scar throbbed so much it felt as though his head would split open. Quirrell glowered as he held onto the boy, but something else crept across his face as he strangled Harry.

Pain.

It hurt Quirrell to strangle Harry just as it hurt Harry to be in his clutch. It finally got to be too much for Quirrell as he shrieked and released Harry. Harry fell to his knees, gasping for air. The pain in his head subsided. His breaths came easier. As he looked at the professor, he saw Voldemort raving at Quirrell while the professor was hunched over, whimpering and nursing his hand, which was raw, red with pockets of pus budding like grotesque flowers

“Damn you, Quirrell!” Voldemort yelled. “Kill the boy!”

“Master! My hand!” Quirrell cried meekly.

“I don't care! Kill him and get the Stone!”

Quirrell raised his hand to strike Harry dead, but Harry tackled him to the ground. He straddled Quirrell's chest, getting a strong enough position that he wouldn't be thrown off. He held his hand on Quirrell's head and face, making the professor and the Dark Lord both scream in agony. The professor struggled to buck Harry off his chest. His feet kicked and flailed madly to fight the boy atop him. All the while, Harry stayed put. The skin on their faces grew redder and more blistered.

Quirrell threw up his undamaged hand and grabbed Harry’s throat again. The pain surged through Harry again, ready to burst through his scar. He kept one hand at Quirrell's throat while he fought to break the grip that encircled his.

The professor screamed even louder. The pain grew more and more within Harry's head until it blinded him. He couldn't let go. He wouldn't let go.

All he could hear were the screams of pain coming from himself and from the professor and the Dark Lord. Harry stayed clutching them as long as he could, even as he felt weaker and more light-headed. Something somewhere pulled him off the professor. He fought hard to break free, to get back to fighting them. He had to, but he felt no more life within himself. The breath left his body and he fell back into a blackness from which he didn't want to leave.

The fight was over.

 _Now, I can see my family_ , he thought, before he passed out.


	21. Denouement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Twenty-One  
**Denouement**

 

A bright white haze came into his vision as his eyes fluttered open. He always woke to this sight every morning. Harry reached out to his left with a tired arm, feeling for the bedside table he had in his bedroom in Greenwich. His hand brushed against something that crinkled with the sound of cellophane. Moving his hand some more, he felt the wood of a table and felt about some more, coming upon a familiar pair of glass circles, each surrounded by a metal rim.

He sat up and put on his glasses, his vision clearing almost instantly. He saw he was in the Hospital Wing, situated on one of its beds. All around the bed were countless gift baskets filled with all sorts of sweets. Looking to his left he saw a young girl with bushy brown hair curled up and dozing in an armchair.

“Hermione?” Harry asked.

Harry's sister stirred and stretched out in the chair. When she opened her bleary eyes and saw her brother awake, she leapt out of the chair and up and over the gift baskets that encircled the bed.

“Harry!” she cried, throwing her arms around him and taking him into the strongest hug she could. Harry returned it in kind. She broke away, sat back and looked squarely at him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him.

“I'm all right,” he replied. “Where did all these baskets come from?”

A cough broke their conversation as brother and sister turned to see their parents standing on either side of Professor Dumbledore draped in royal blue robes.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” said the Headmaster.

“Mum? Dad?” Harry asked in surprise.

Laurence and Jean dashed over to their son, throwing their arms and holding him close.

“Thank goodness you're all right!” Jean cried, almost sobbing.

“How are you feeling, lad?” Laurence asked him.

“I'm okay, Dad,” Harry replied. “How long have I been here?”

“Since your venture into the gauntlet, three days have passed,” the Headmaster answered.

Harry tried to rise from the bed, panicking as he remembered the consequences that the clan in the forest would carry out.

“Harry! Calm down!” his mother cried.

“But, Neville,” Harry shouted. “The centaurs will kill him!”

“It's all right, Harry,” Hermione told him. “Professor Dumbledore got him back. He's all right.”

“He is?” asked Harry, startled but relieved.

“Yes, he is,” said Dumbledore. “The centaurs had no choice but to take hostages in order to make plain their grievances. But, I assure you, the clan did not mistreat him or Mister Warrington in any way.”

“But, what about the Stone?” asked Harry. “Quirrell could have got away with the Stone!”

“He most certainly did not,” Dumbledore replied, reaching into his robes and pulling out the blood red stone the Dark Wizard and his servant sought.

“What on earth is that?” Laurence asked.

“ _Lapis Philosophorum_ ,” Dumbledore answered. “The Philosopher's Stone, the catalyst for many of this past year's events.”

Dumbledore then launched into a recap of all the events that led up to their gathering around Harry in the Hospital Wing, while Harry and Hermione added their own notes on the events that directly involved them.

“You brought that into the school?” Laurence asked when the Headmaster was finally done.

“And you didn't suspect Professor Quirrell of anything this entire year?” Jean asked.

“I brought the Lapis here to call out their bluff,” the Headmaster answered. “I thought they would not put the lives of children in harm's way in order to procure what they sought. I was sorely mistaken. Of Professor Quirrell's involvement in the attack on Professor McGonagall, and his pursuit of this, I was less than certain until later in the year. I initially suspected him only of using Dark Magic to maintain a position at this school. Had I known beforehand, I certainly would have put a stop to it all. I most certainly would have done more to keep Harry, Hermione, and their friends away from the gauntlet. You have my word that, in their next years, I will do my utmost to keep them from being involved in any further troubles within the school.”

“What will happen to the Stone now?” Harry asked.

“What will happen to the Flamels?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, you know about Nicolas and Perenelle?” Dumbledore replied, impressed at her process. “You did do the thing properly. Yes, after what transpired in the gauntlet, Nicolas, Perenelle, and I had a long discussion of what should happen. We eventually came to one conclusion.”

The Headmaster walked to the bed across from Harry's and pulled a bedpan from underneath. He set the bedpan on the table at the foot of the bed and dropped the Stone in it with a resounding clang. He reached into the pockets of his robes and drew out a glass bottle.

“The Lapis must be destroyed,” he told them all, uncorking the bottle and draining it into the bedpan. A large cloud of smoke rose from the bedpan, accompanied by hissing and bubbling as the solution dissolved the Philosopher's Stone. Once the reaction died down, the Headmaster drew out his wand and Vanished the bedpan and its contents.

“But,” Hermione said, “won't the Flamels die?”

“Nicolas and Perenelle have enough Elixir on hand to set their affairs in order,” said Dumbledore. “But, yes, they will die. When it comes time for them, it will only be like going to bed after a very long day.”

“So, what will happen to...You-Know-Who?” asked Harry, unsure of how the Headmaster would react to the name. To his surprise, only Hermione flinched at the mention of his birth parents' killer.

“His name is Voldemort, Harry,” the Headmaster told him with a strong resolution. “Do not be afraid to say his name. To fear the name of a thing will only beget more fear of the thing itself. No, Voldemort is still trapped in the state he sought so desperately to escape. He has fled the castle, to parts unknown, where he may come to share the body of another. One thing is for certain. He has not come to understand what the Flamels have: death is but the next great adventure. I doubt he will ever understand that.”

The family was left to ponder what the Headmaster had told them. As he thought over the events that led to his newest hospital stay, Harry wondered what the rest of the school's reactions would be. He had some feeling that it had to do with all the baskets around his bed.

“If it is not any trouble, I would wish to speak with Harry alone,” the Headmaster asked them.

Both Jean and Laurence looked at Harry to see if he would be all right with speaking to Dumbledore alone. Harry nodded to them that it would be fine. Hermione gave him one last hug before she got up from the bed. Jean placed a kiss at his temple before she told him, “I'm so happy that you're all right, Harry.”

“Me, too, Mum,” Harry replied.

“We'll be just outside,” Laurence told him in an assuring tone.

“Thanks, Dad,” said Harry.

When they left, Dumbledore said, “In regards to the baskets, Harry, they are tokens from your admirers.”

“Admirers?”

“What happened to you down in the gauntlet is a total secret. So, naturally, the whole school knows. Your friend Ronald already got a start on the Every Flavour Beans he got for you. I seem to recall Fred and George Weasley tried to send you a toilet seat, before Madam Pomfrey confiscated it, saying it was too unhygienic.”

The Headmaster took a pitcher of water from the bedside table across from Harry's bed. Setting it at Harry's bedside, he poured a glass for himself and one for Harry. He took his seat where Hermione had slept. “Your sister related to me that you thought I was after the Lapis for my own purposes,” Dumbledore said.

His statement caught Harry by surprise. At first, Harry did not know how he should answer the Headmaster, before he finally said, “Yes, sir, I did.”

Again, to Harry's surprise, Dumbledore took no offence to it. “It seems your father's suspicions of me have passed onto you. He does not think me very trustworthy, does he?”

“No, I don't think so.”

A moment's quiet contemplation followed, before Dumbledore said, “I don't blame you, either of you. My actions this past year, not to mention my actions in arranging your adoption, were most surreptitious. I do wish to earn your trust. I do not expect to gain that right away, but I wish to gain it in the right way. Therefore, any question you may have for me now, I will answer them all to the best of my ability. Would you like that?”

He thought on it for a short while. He finally answered, “I can ask you anything and you'll tell me the truth?”

Dumbledore hedged a bit before answering, “The truth is always a beautiful and dangerous thing, Harry, and must always be treated with the utmost caution. But, yes, I will answer you truthfully.”

“I think that's fine.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Do you know why he attacked me? Voldemort? When I was a baby?”

The Headmaster took a draught of water before he replied in a solemn manner. “Yes, I do. I am afraid I cannot tell you why.”

“But, you said—” Harry cried, before the Headmaster answered his protest.

“This question is such a sensitive matter that I cannot tell you now, as young as you are. But, I promise you, Harry, when you are older, when you are ready, I will tell you exactly what you wish to know. For now, anything else you may ask me, I will answer in earnest.”

Despite his desire to press Dumbledore for the answer, Harry decided to move on with the rest of his questions. “Why didn't you leave me with my birth mother's family? What really made you choose my family?”

The Headmaster took another drink from his glass and answered, “I was about to set you at your aunt and uncle's doorstep—Lily's sister and her husband—when I had experienced something that shook me to my core.”

“What was that?”

“I had a horrible vision. Of you, locked away in a cupboard under the stairs of their home. Neglected, starved, even beaten at times. I have never been predisposed to having such visions, but that felt so real to me and scared me so much that I had to find you somewhere truly safe.

“I scoured the entire country until I came upon your father helping an old colleague of mine. I cannot describe it, but something drew me to him. Some gut feeling encouraged me to follow him and see how he lived. Soon, I saw him welcomed into his home by his loving wife and his adoring daughter. As soon as I learned that your future sister was to be a Hogwarts student, that settled everything. I knew that home would be perfect for you.”

“Do you know where they live? Lily's sister and her family?”

“Last I knew of them, they lived in Surrey. I am not certain they still live there. Once I know for certain where they are, I will send you their address, if you wish to meet them.”

Harry nodded his thanks and took another sip. “How did I get the Stone from the Mirror?”

At that query, the Headmaster gave a roguish grin before he answered. “Initially, my intentions were simply to hide the Lapis within the Mirror of Erised. But then, our meeting in front of it inspired me to make it a little more difficult to obtain.”

“How?”

“After we spoke, I decided instead to hide the Lapis in the hand mirror I had used during our talk. Then, I set about creating six crude but superficially similar replicas of the Mirror of Erised. The replicas would not reveal the real one. Only the hand mirror would, and the true Mirror would be under an enchantment not to reveal itself without the smaller mirror in hand. One could not get the Lapis straight out of the hand mirror. It had to be in one's hand while that person stood before the real Mirror of Erised. But, even fulfilling all those requirements meant nothing unless they fulfilled the most important criterion, the one requirement I had in place from the start.”

“What was that?”

“The only person who could obtain the Lapis was a person who only wanted to find it—that is, find it, but not use it in any of its myriad applications. Only then could you have taken hold of it. If that were not the case, the person would see themselves surrounded by gold or making the Elixir. All of this was by far one of my most ingenious ideas. Between you and me, Harry, that is saying a lot.”

Harry looked out at the spot where Dumbledore destroyed the Stone, thinking how much he did want it before, then how he only wanted to keep it away from anyone else, especially Voldemort. He thought of the parents he never knew and did want to bring back to life somehow.

“Quirrell told me something about Snape.”

“ _Professor_ Snape, Harry.”

Harry ignored the correction and went on. “He said Snape and James, my birth father, they hated each other, but that Snape was protecting me this past year. Is all that true?”

“Once I confirmed that Quirrell was the culprit after the Lapis, I told Professor Snape to make certain he did everything to monitor Quirrell and protect you, once he attacked you at the Quidditch match.

“As to the former portion of your question, James Potter and Severus Snape were each other's most hated rivals in their school days, much like how you and Draco Malfoy were to each other before the gauntlet. James eventually outgrew his enmity, though I sense that Severus never could, especially when James did something Severus could never forgive.”

“What was that?”

“James saved his life.”

“ _What_?” Harry cried in disbelief.

“It is funny how a person can show gratitude, isn't it? In Professor Snape's mind, he was probably making himself square with James, protecting his greatest enemy's only child. Now, he most likely can go back to hating James's memory in peace. Although, I always question how that could be even remotely peaceful.”

Harry poured himself another glass of water. He felt some strength coming back, but the glass ewer still felt as heavy as lead as he set it back down.

“Do you know why Quirrell couldn't touch me without getting hurt?” Harry asked.

“I have several theories. One is that the unicorn's blood still in Quirrell's system acted against him in that instant he tried to take another life. There have been instances that resemble what happened to him, when the blood will act as a poison against the person who ingested it when that person perpetrates an unjust deed, and it is one of the most notable factors of why it is so dangerous a material.

“The other possibility is that you already bore some protection well before your confrontation.”

“How? I didn't have anything to defend myself with, except for my wand.”

“That protection may have been imbued upon you as Lily protected you during her death.”

Harry could feel a lump growing in his throat; his eyes began to sting with impending tears as Dumbledore continued. “Aside from death, there is one thing Voldemort has never understood, and that is love. He has never understood the power love has, like Lily had for you. Love always leaves its mark on a person. Not a scar, or any visible trait of any kind. Love as strong as that, as Lily felt for you, as strong as your family feels for you, and you for them, is truly a force to be reckoned with. Quirrell, so full of hatred, greed, and self-serving ambition, and sharing his body with a soul even worse than his own, could never withstand something so great and wonderful as that.”

Harry felt a mixture of sorrow and gratitude well up in his chest. His eyes grew full of tears as he thanked whatever fates had brought him back to this life. He turned away to dry his eyes, hoping that the Headmaster wouldn't think him too much of a softie in the face of that explanation.

“What will happen to Quirrell, now that he's revealed himself?” Harry asked.

Professor Dumbledore took the box of Every Flavour Beans Ron had opened, searching for something he might like. “Would you mind terribly if I helped myself to some of these?” he asked Harry. “I've not been terribly fond of them since I tasted a vomit-flavoured bean in my youth. However, I always hope I can get hold of a toffee one when I can.”

“Professor, please, will Quirrell be punished for his actions?” Harry asked again.

The Headmaster got himself a tan-coloured bean from the box. Before he could pop it into his mouth, he answered, “I am afraid there is nothing that will enforce a lasting punishment upon him.”

“What?” Harry cried. “How can that be? He tried to to kill me three times this year! He killed three unicorns and nearly sent the school to war with the centaurs! Why won't he be punished?”

“Because he is dead, Harry.”

Had Harry been standing, he would have had to fall into a chair upon hearing that the man had died. Sitting in the bed, Harry was dumbstruck as his mind raced with thoughts of satisfaction that the traitor got what was coming to him and, to his surprise, blame and reproof for what he had done.

“Quirinus Quirrell died not six hours after your encounter at the mirrors, when Voldemort left him behind,” Dumbledore explained. “The centaurs cremated his body yesterday.”

Harry's mind went over and over all his thoughts of blame and distress.

- _I killed a man. I'm no worse than the man who took my parents._

_-Served him right, though, didn't it?_

_-That's not the point. I could have been better than him._

_-You could have wound up dead._

Somehow, Dumbledore sensed what was coursing through Harry's mind and told him, “None of this was your fault, Harry.”

“But, I did it,” said Harry. “I killed a man.”

“No, you did not,” Dumbledore reassured him. “You are not to blame for his death.”

“Yes, I am!” Harry cried. “It happened at my hands! It happened as we fought!”

“It happened because Quirrell shared his body with an entity who sapped him of nearly all his life's essence. It happened because he ingested a volatile fluid that would poison him even more if he hadn't already been weakened by Lord Voldemort's presence. Everything that happened, every possible reason there could be that he died, is either Voldemort's doing or his own.”

“Then, why do I feel like this?”

Dumbledore stood up and went to Harry, placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. “You feel this way because of love, Harry,” Dumbledore said. Before Harry could protest that he felt no love towards his birth parents' killer or the man's servant, Dumbledore went on. “You feel this way because you were raised with love in your heart. Any person with that quality will always wish to find some way to preserve life, even if it means saving those who would mean to deprive others of theirs. That is one of the many things that make you a better man than Voldemort, Harry.

“I know it may not feel like it now, but I hope you do come to understand that. In the meantime, think over that. Get plenty of rest, and have some sweets, but not so much that Madam Pomfrey would reprimand you for it. Which reminds me...”

Dumbledore popped the Every Flavour Bean into his mouth. After about five seconds, he grimaced in disgust and swallowed it with equal distaste. He told Harry, as he was about to leave, “The truth, as I told you before, is dangerous and beautiful, and more often than not, it can be difficult to swallow. Case in point: that wasn't toffee. It was ear wax.”

When he left, Harry was all alone, saddled with guilt and grief, both unwanted, surrounded by a plethora of gifts that he felt he did not deserve.

*****HPG*****

Once Harry told Hermione and their parents about the fate of Professor Quirrell, they were quick to reaffirm what the Headmster had told him, that it wasn't his fault, that Professor Quirrell instigated it all. His father tried to convince Harry that even if he had been to blame, it would all be chalked up to self-defence.

Despite all they tried to do to convince him, Harry still felt deep down that he had been the only responsible party in the whole affair. His parents left the following day, telling him once more that he wasn't to blame.

His friends had come up to visit, although they had to argue with Madam Pomfrey for three minutes to visit him for about ten minutes. When Ron, Susan, and Neville heard what Dumbledore had said about Quirrell and Harry's reaction to the news, they were quick to say that Quirrell had it coming.

“Why would you feel bad about that tosspot?” asked Ron as he had some of the Every Flavour Beans he had given Harry.

“Yeah, he threw in with You-Know-Who,” said Neville. “If anything, he wouldn't feel the same way about you, if the roles were switched.”

Things worsened considerably when he found that because of his absence, Gryffindor had gone with a substitute Seeker and lost its final match for the Quidditch Cup, making Ravenclaw the winner. While everyone said it was not his fault, Harry could not come to agree with them, and still gazed on some spot on the bed without paying any attention to anything going on around him.

For the most part, he was catatonic, replaying the events of that night in his mind's eye, looking for some way he could have kept the man from dying. He paid no attention to whoever was at his bedside, which was Madam Pomfrey most of the time. It wasn't until he heard a familiar voice that Harry actually did come to attention.

“How ya farin' there, Harry?” Hagrid asked as he ambled up to Harry's bed.

“'M fine,” Harry mumbled.

“I get the feeling that just ain't true,” said Hagrid, “given what your friends have told me.”

“Hagrid, I don't want to talk about it.”

“We don't have to. I just wanted to come and see how you were. Had a present for you.”

“I don't want any more sweets.”

“Well, that's good. 'Cos this here's fairly inedible.”

Harry half-expected that Hagrid had brought some of his rock cakes in the hopes of cheering him up. Instead, he looked up in confusion as Hagrid drew out a flat sort of package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with plain brown twine. “Took a while to put together, mind you. But, got enough in there that you should be chuffed by it all the same.”

Hagrid passed the package to Harry, who took hold of it with a perplexed expression. He undid the twine, tossing it into a coil beside the bed. He tore open the paper to reveal a book, bound in leather the same shade of red as the Hogwarts Express' engine. When Harry opened it to the first page, he saw the exuberant faces of his parents, dancing at the gates to the school on the day they got engaged. Turning the page, he felt his heart almost burst with joy. The next few pages showed them in various settings—cafes, homes, Hogwarts—with all manner of friends, some of whom seemed somehow familiar.

Flipping forward a few pages, he found them in their full wedding raiment, with three groomsmen on James's side, and three bridesmaids on Lily's. Everyone was clearly ecstatic about the whole affair, with James sneaking the occasional peck on Lily's cheek. The page after that showed a very pregnant Lily, maybe six or seven months along, hanging a mobile over a pristine white crib. After that, Harry got to see what would open the floodgates and bring about a torrent of tears: the sight of James and Lily on a bed with a newly born baby dozing between them with tufts of black hair jutting up in all directions. The rest of the pages after that were open for any photos that he might have wanted to put in there.

“After we had our discussion in the forest, I sent owls to a few of James and Lily's friends,” Hagrid explained. “Asked if they had any photos that you might have. A few days after, I didn't know how I'd get through 'em all, or if they'd all fit in there. I'm real glad Dumbledore let me finish this up, although he ought to be sackin' me instead, after what happened with Norbert.”

Harry had a firm grip on the album when he told Hagrid, “Thank you,” in a meek whisper as he wiped his eyes. He set the photo album on his nightstand, laying a grateful hand on it once more before he returned his attention to the gamekeeper.

Hagrid set a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. He said, “I know you blame yourself for what happened down there, but you shouldn't. And I know you heard all the other things your friends, your parents, and Dumbledore have said, so I won't repeat any more of 'em. All I know for sure is, I'm damn glad you don't have to meet James and Lily in person so soon, and I feel certain they might feel the same way.

“Until you get to that point, though, take your time and come to terms with it at your own speed. It's the only thing you can do.”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Harry said once more, before the gamekeeper took him into a giant hug that made Harry feel loads better than he had before.

The remainder of his stay went by much more enjoyably. He wasn't completely at ease with what happened, but he was getting better. The sweets he received from all the other students tasted so much better than before. Hermione was overjoyed that Harry was starting to look and act more like the brother she knew. She and their friends looked at the photo album that Hagrid had brought, astonished at the memories that had been captured and overjoyed at the reactions they invoked in their friend.

Madam Pomfrey released Harry from the Hospital Wing just in time for him to attend the End of Year Feast. As he approached the Great Hall, he felt a growing unease in his stomach as he worried that all eyes would fall on him in judgment of what had happened to Professor Quirrell. Once he entered, he found that he was only half-right. All the other students looked up at him, but there was no judgment against him behind their collective gaze. There was a deep respect that had permeated the student body, even among some of the Slytherins. Malfoy gave Harry a curt but courteous nod when their gaze met. He took his seat beside Ron and Susan, who both gave him appreciative pats on the back.

The Gryffindors welcomed Harry to the table with something akin to a silent reverence, as if the boy were the founder of Gryffindor himself. Hermione gave a loving smile from across the room at her House's table.

The Headmaster tapped his glass with the fork. The assembly quieted itself, and the Headmaster spoke as he stood to his feet. “Another year gone, and with it comes a celebration we all so eagerly look forward to: our End-of-Year Feast. Before we tuck in, however, I think we have an award to hand out. The House Cup.

“The points at the end of this year stand thus: In fourth place is Gryffindor with three hundred and twelve points.” A smattering of applause followed. “In third is Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two points.” The Hufflepuff table gave their applause. “In second, Slytherin, with three hundred seventy-two points.” The Slytherin table was a bit louder than the two before it. “And in first place is Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twelve points, in addition to this year's Quidditch Cup.”

The Ravenclaw table erupted in cheering and table-banging as every student clad in azure and bronze cried out with pride. The other tables offered their polite applause in response.

“Yes, yes,” said the Headmaster in a very jovial voice. “Well, done, Ravenclaw. Well done. However, before we celebrate the winner outright, there are a few last minute points to award to some of our students. First, Susan Bones.”

All eyes fell on Susan, who looked as though she was going to be roundly dismissed from the school. “For recognising the playful nature of a great beast, and for providing a hard-worked guardian a well-earned night of rest, I award Gryffindor fifty points.”

The rest of the Gryffindor table cheered wildly as the students around her clapped her on the back and even shook her in their excitement. Hagrid especially looked pleased someone thought of Fluffy in the same way he did, although Harry was sure it was a one-time regard.

When everyone at the table quieted themselves, Dumbledore spoke again. “Draco Malfoy,” he called. All eyes fell on the young blond boy, who looked as though he worried his housemates would tear him limb from limb if he lost any more points for his house. “As I have heard from several accounts, you acted to go forth alongside several other students who were, in the best way of putting it, your rivals. Although you achieved this in a rather unsavoury manner, it was a step in the right direction to remedy any bitterness between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Because of that, and for acting to save your fellow classmates, even in an injured state, I award Slytherin a further fifty points.”

The Slytherins cheered for their growing lead, and several of the older students congratulated Malfoy for his actions, though Crabbe and Goyle seemed torn about it all.

“I can't believe he gets points for all this,” Ron muttered.

“He saved your life from the Devil's Snare, Ron,” Harry replied, “just like he did mine, and Hermione's.”

“Ronald Weasley,” Dumbledore cried, as everyone went quiet again. “You acted as a leader in what is undoubtedly the single greatest game of Wizard's chess ever to take place within the walls of this school. And like Mister Malfoy, you could not move forward yourself, but you acted to ensure that others could. Therefore, I award Gryffindor another fifty points.”

The Gryffindor table roared to life once more as everyone cheered for Ron, who went so pink that his face clashed so terribly with his hair. “Well done, baby brother,” Fred & George cried as they shook him vigorously.

“That's my brother!” Percy shouted for everyone to hear over the tumult. “He beat McGonagall's chess set!”

It took a while for everyone to calm down again. When they did, Dumbledore said, “Hermione Granger.”

Hermione looked up at the staff table, her face growing more pink as the Headmaster spoke. “You embodied the strongest ideal that Ravenclaw House upholds: logic above all. Even though, initially, that mantra did not work in your favour, you put it to excellent effect later on at the gauntlet's penultimate challenge.” Harry looked up at the staff table to see Snape giving Hermione the most sour glare he could. “With that said, I award Ravenclaw fifty points.”

The blue and bronze students cheered again, shaking Hermione's hand and even hugging her. Harry would have joined them in congratulating her, if the Headmaster hadn't quieted them all once more.

“Harry Potter-Granger,” said Dumbledore. All of the students went silent as all eyes fell upon him. The Headmaster continued, “You displayed courage most outstanding, and a nerve that very few people of your age could ever possess, especially in the face of a threat no child ought ever face. Therefore, I award Gryffindor House a further sixty points.”

An enormous din followed, along with everyone at the table wanting to congratulate him for giving them such an enormous last-minute lead in House points.

“Bloody good job, Harry!” Seamus cried.

“Damn good work, mate!” shouted Dean.

Once the din had died down, attention returned to the Headmaster. “Mister Potter-Granger's bravery was especially noteworthy, but we would be remiss if we didn't acknowledge the brave choice

that prompted him to act, as well as the second one of its like.

“Neville Longbottom of Hufflepuff and Cassius Warrington of Slytherin, please stand.”

Neville and a fourth-year boy clad in Slytherin green-and-silver stood to attention. “The both of you put your lives on the line in the name of the school and the welfare of your fellow students. Because of this, I award both Hufflepuff House and Slytherin House fifty points apiece.”

Both the green-and-silver and yellow-and-black burst into cheers as they congratulated their peers. The Hufflepuffs looked more grateful that Neville wasn't dead, but were still extremely proud of their housemate for getting an extra fifty points for his troubles.

As soon as everyone at Hufflepuff and Slytherin were done with congratulating their housemates, they quieted down and looked back to the Headmaster, expecting him to award someone else some more points. The Headmaster gave everyone a wry grin and took a sip from the goblet of wine he had at his place at the Staff table.

“With those points awarded, we now reach the final score for this year's House Cup,” said Dumbledore. “In fourth place is Hufflepuff with four hundred and two points.” The Hufflepuffs cheered, despite their sudden placement at the bottom of the standings. “In third comes Ravenclaw with four hundred and sixty-two points.” All the blue and bronze students cheered at their score, even though they too were demoted from their previous standing. “And in second place...oh my,” he said as if he had just remembered something. “It seems there isn't a second placeholder this year.”

The entire student body looked about in bewilderment. Even the rest of the staff looked about in confusion.

“If my sums are correct, there is no House in second place because the last two Houses are tied for first place. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin have four hundred and seventy-two points apiece.”

A great murmur rolled through the Great Hall as everyone looked about in bewilderment. Nobody knew what was going on, even though the Headmaster had said what was happening. They all looked back to the Headmaster, awaiting a further addition to what he had said.

“And as I cannot, for the life of me, think of another student to award more points to, that is where this will stand. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin win the House Cup.”

The Headmaster clapped his hands and waved them at the festoons lining the Hall. They waved up as if a gale blew through the room. When they settled they were no longer the azure and bronze of Ravenclaw, but half scarlet-and-gold and half green-and-silver. The students and staff all looked uneasy at the new decorations.

“Congratulations to both Houses on your win,” Dumbeldore said with a note of finality. The students and staff all clapped with great uncertainty. As the Feast went on, Harry looked over to the Slytherin table to see Malfoy looking about like he was a pilgrim in a country that regarded him as a heathen. When he looked about his own table, he didn't see any of his Housemates looking at him in the same way. However, he was wondering if he really was in the same position.

*****HPG*****

Everything was packed. His clothes were folded and placed in his trunk, along with all the school supplies and textbooks he didn't need to get to right away. Hedwig was secure in her cage, looking slightly put off that she had to be in there. In his book bag, he had put some quills and parchment and an ink bottle, and a book in case he got bored, although a trip back to London with his friends would hardly be so.

Once everything was ready, Percy came to each of the boys' dormitories and Banished the trunks down to the train station. Leaving Hogwarts left a strange feeling in him. The events of the last year felt so surreal, almost as if it were a hallucination. But it all happened. Every bit of it, from the Quidditch matches to the final confrontation at the Mirror of Erised.

Harry walked down to the school's main entrance with Ron and Susan. They met up with Hermione on the way down. Harry's sister strode with a prominent sort of pride as she joined her friends. It had been confirmed that she had scored the highest in her year on all her exams. Harry and Malfoy came up right after her. Ron and Susan both passed with good marks, although Ron's results were by the thinnest of margins. Neville passed his as well, even Snape's exam, though his best result came from Herbology.

As the school carriages carried them to the train station, Harry looked out at the Dark Forest and two centaurs stepping out into the open field. When he squinted, he saw the wild auburn mane and beard of Ronan and the palomino body of Firenze. The two centaurs gazed out as the carriages transported everyone from the school. Harry gave a wave to them; the centaurs replied in kind, before turning back to the woods and galloping away.

Everyone was ready for the year to officially end and be away from the school. But, for Harry, it felt bittersweet. He had come to think of it as a second home, one that had so many more surprises and astonishing sights for him yet to behold. He had hoped to stay longer, better understand everything there was to know about the castle, maybe even more of the Dark Forest, too; but he still felt a calling to come back to Greenwich. It may have been only three weeks since he had seen parents, but that still felt like ages. It was definitely time to go home.

Once every last student boarded the train, the Hogwarts Express lurched forward and was soon on its way south to King's Cross. Neville broke out his set of Gobstones and Susan got out a set of Exploding Snap cards. Harry soon came to distrust the game of Gobstones once one of the stones sprayed something that smelled like rancid meat. Thankfully, they got the compartment aired out quickly.

No one spoke about what happened in the third-floor corridor, or about what had happened that year. Most of the discussion centered on what they would be doing that summer.

“Gran will probably take us to see my Uncle Alfie at some point,” said Neville. “Not looking forward to him trying anything.”

“We'll probably visit family in Norwich at the start of July,” said Susan. “What about the rest of you?”

“We don't have anything special planned,” Ron answered. “It's mostly just making sure everything around our home is well-tended. Can't let anything get too overgrown or the gnomes'll take advantage of it.”

“You have gnomes at your house?” asked Harry in surprise.

“They're annoying,” Ron replied. “Mum wants to be rid of them, Dad thinks they're doing no harm.”

“So, what about you two?” Susan asked Harry and Hermione. “Anything exciting planned for the holidays?”

“Nothing except for Harry's birthday,” said Hermione.

“Really?” asked Ron eagerly. “When's that?”

“The thirty-first of July,” said Harry. “We don't know if we'll have a big party for it, but we'll do something and invite you all.”

“Brilliant!” said Neville.

“You will write us, won't you?” asked Susan. “We all should keep in touch before we come back.”

“Absolutely!” Hermione replied, as if anything else would be unheard of.

The rest of the trip was devoted to playing Exploding Snap. Harry and Ron took a break from one game in order to play a match of Wizard's chess. Ron flinched every time one of his pieces got taken.

All too soon, they arrived at King's Cross. A few parents waited on the platform for their children. Neville could see his grandmother's stuffed vulture hat in the throng waiting for them. The five friends gathered their things and got off the train. Neville bid farewell to his friends and promised to write before he joined his grandmother. Susan spotted her mother and father in the crowd. Both of them wore jackets emblazoned with the crest of Falmouth's Quidditch team.

“I'll see you both soon,” said Susan, giving them both a hug. She dashed away to join her parents, who welcomed her with open arms.

As he looked about the crowd, Harry saw a man and a woman, both with pale blond hair. The woman looked like the person who was with Draco at Diagon Alley, just as haughty as before. As he caught sight of his parents, Malfoy made his way to them.

“Malfoy,” Harry called out. The blond boy turned Harry's way, giving him a rather contemptuous look.

As Harry walked up to him, he said to Malfoy, “Remember our deal. September the first.”

In response, Malfoy held up his hand, the one he had cut open with his dagger, showing Harry the puckered pink scar it had left behind. “I'm not likely to forget it,” said Malfoy. “September the first. See you then.”

As Harry walked back to his friends, Malfoy called out again, “Potter!”

Harry turned around to see the other boy looking back at him. “Thanks for taking me with you, even if I forced you to,” he said, leaving Harry a but stunned. “It was fun.” Malfoy turned away and pushed his school trunk and caged owl through the barrier, followed behind by a man and a woman, both with long blond hair as pale as the boy's. The man glowered at all of them before making his way through the barrier to King's Cross.

“He seems like a cheerful sort,” said Harry.

“That was Lucius Malfoy,” said Ron. “Best steer clear of him. He's not likely to be friendly to you.”

“I doubt anyone in Malfoy's bloodline would treat me with any decency,” said Harry.

As he watched them walk away, Harry could have sworn he saw something like a wisp of smoke trailing behind Mr Malfoy. He shook that off as a trick on the eyes and focused on getting to the Muggle side of King's Cross.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione got themselves through the barrier to the other side, where more parents were waiting eagerly for their children to come back.

“There he is, mummy! I see him!” Harry heard a girl cry. Looking forward, he saw Ron's little sister, Ginny, hopping up and down excitedly, and pointing right at him. Ron's mother stood right beside her. “Look! It's Harry Potter!”

“Ginny, don't point at him,” her mother scolded. “That's not polite.”

“Hey, mum!” said Ron.

“Hello, dear!” said Mrs Weasley, taking her son into a hug. “Where are your brothers?”

“They're getting their things,” said Ron. “I think Percy has some Prefect things to finish.”

“Missus Weasley,” Harry said, as he came up. “I want to thank you for everything you've done, for me and my family.”

“Oh, think nothing of it, dear,” Mrs Weasley replied. “I'm only glad to help, and that Ron made a great friend in the process.”

“Us too,” Hermione said. As she looked past Mrs Weasley, she saw their parents walking up the platform. Jean gave a wave and a big smile to them all.

Harry and Hermione gave one more “thank-you” to Mrs Weasley and made their way to their parents, who took the both of them into a great big hug.

“Excited to be back?” asked Jean.

“It's so good to be back home,” said Hermione.

“You doing all right?” Laurence asked Harry.

“Loads better, Dad,” Harry replied. Laurence tousled his son's already messy hair. Jean gave Harry a peck on the temple, and one to Hermione as well.

“Well, let's get home,” Jean told them. “I think you both could do with things being a bit calmer than the past year.”

“Indeed,” said Hermione.

“Yes, please,” said Harry. As he and his family walked out of the train station, Harry wondered about how far he had come, and how far he still had to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. The last chapter of this fic. I hope you enjoyed it, all the good bits and however many weak parts there may have been. Thank you for sticking with it, if you started reading it ages ago. Thank you if you came upon it on a whim only recently. I don't know if I'll do a rewrite of the next book yet. Maybe move on to other things, other stories that germinated in my head while I worked on this. In any case you will find out what I decide to do soon. For now, thank you.


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